


Coming of Rage

by BlackFriar



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackFriar/pseuds/BlackFriar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman is infected with rage, leading Robin and Kid Flash on a mad dash through Gotham to find the cure before Batman destroys either himself…or someone he cares about. Takes place after the events of <em>Dropzone.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Friendship is unnecessary, like Philosophy, like Art...it has no survival value; rather, it is one of those things that gives value to survival." C.S. Lewis

oOo

Robin landed on the roof of Gotham PD just after Batman.

Commissioner Gordon was sitting by the bat-signal. He turned it off before getting to his feet to greet them, and Robin raised an eyebrow to see that he was smoking again; the officer had quit last year.

“Problem, Commissioner?” Batman’s gravelly voice sounded.

“Another body,” Gordon replied, handing Batman a file and smiling at Robin. 

The boy smiled back, although he was quick to notice how strained Gordon’s smile was, and how tired the officer looked. Returning his attention to Batman, Robin could see his jaw clench while he studied the file; a definite indication that he didn’t like what he was reading.

“The boy was only sixteen,” Gordon informed Batman. “He was reported missing last night along with his brother, Mark. Brandon’s body turned up this morning, beaten to death like the others.” The officer removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This gives us an excuse to start investigating the fight clubs, but I really wish it hadn’t taken the death of a kid to get us the jurisdiction we needed.”

Robin grimaced as he realized what was going on. This was about the underground fight clubs that had been springing up all over Gotham for the past few weeks. Their presence coincided with a spike in the number of dead bodies turning up all over Gotham – bodies of men who’d been beaten to death. But fight club organisers denied that the dead men had ever been to the clubs, and so far all the evidence supported their claims, leaving the Gotham Police Department unable to do anything about the clubs.

Robin knew how frustrating this was for Commissioner Gordon. Knowing men were beating each other senseless in his city but being unable to do anything about it was really getting under his skin. The problem was that fight clubs weren’t considered illegal; they consisted of consenting adults fighting in a private place with no money changing hands. So long as no one was seriously hurt, the police were powerless to do anything about the clubs. However, Robin knew the Law took an entirely different view of fight clubs when they involved minors, and if this teenager Gordon was talking about had been beaten in a fight…

“Where is his brother now?” asked Batman suddenly.

“At Gotham General.” The officer sighed. “But he’s in no fit state to answer any questions.”

“The brother wasn’t beaten.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“No. But it looks like he might have done the beating.” The Commissioner removed another cigarette from a battered packet and lit up, taking a long drag and exhaling.

“What makes you think the brother did the beating?”

“Because he was discovered only a few blocks away from the body and covered in Brandon’s blood. When my officers approached him, he became violent. It took eight men to subdue him.”

“Eight?!” Robin interjected incredulously. “What is he, the incredible hulk?”

“Five nine and weighs about a hundred and forty pounds.” Gordon shook his head. “He collapsed in his cell shortly after the officers arrested him and is still unconscious at Gotham General.”

“Drugs?” asked Batman.

“Doctors are waiting on toxicology.”

Batman handed the file back to the officer. “Where did the fight club take place last night?”

“The old meat packing plant down at the docks. But the only person there who admits to having seen either boy is the bouncer. He said he turned away a group of teenagers who were underage.”

“Is he telling the truth?”

Gordon nodded. “We have CCTV footage of him turning them away. They didn’t return.”

Batman turned to Robin. “Let’s go.” Turning, the Dark Knight jumped off the roof and swung into the night. 

Robin gave the Commissioner a wave as he followed suit. “Care to fill me in?” he asked, swooping after Batman.

“Brandon and Mark Saunders were reported missing by their friends yesterday evening. Brandon turned up dead this morning.”

“Yeah, kind of already worked that out. I meant where are we going?” 

“After being turned away from the fight club, they all went for pizza. Brandon went to the bathroom and Mark stepped out to take a call. Neither of them came back. We need to find out where they went.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Batman didn’t reply. Instead he swooped lower as they neared Kane Street.

Robin rolled his eyes. So it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

oOo

Batman frowned at the back door to Luigi’s Pizza; it opened into a darkened alley and the bathrooms were located just inside the back door. It would be very easy to snatch a lone teenager here; there were no cameras and no windows in the alley to witness it.

His frown deepened. This could explain Brandon’s disappearance from the pizzeria, but not Mark’s. The older boy had exited via the front door onto a busy street to take a call; if there had been a struggle, someone would have noticed. So how did they both disappear from here? And how did it culminate in one beating the other to death? The report had suggested the boys were not only close, but from a good home. There was nothing in their past to indicate the level of violence that had been perpetrated by one upon the other. Just like the other men who had been violently beaten to death over the last few weeks. Something bigger was at work here, but what?

“Batman.”

He turned at the sound of Robin’s voice. “I told you to canvas the main street.”

“I did. I’ve already got something; there’s a security camera at the far end of the street. I hacked in and found a shot of Mark getting into a black van.” Using the holographic computer in his glove, Robin brought up the clip. “The van came from this end of the street, and Mark ended a call on his cell just before he got into the van.”

Batman raised an eyebrow. How did Robin know what Mark looked like? He hadn’t seen Gordon’s file.

“I hacked into the DMV to get their pictures,” Robin admitted to the unasked question. “Figured there was no point looking at the footage without knowing who I was looking for.”

He hid a smile. Robin’s skills had grown exponentially in the last year. “Can you track where the van went?”

Robin nodded and typed quickly. “I discovered something else. I hacked Mark’s phone records; he was on a call to his brother just before he got into the van.”

Batman frowned. Something bigger was definitely at play here. It sounded like one brother had been snatched, and then used to lure the other away. These boys had been targeted. The question was, why?

“Batman,” Robin’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “the van drops off the grid on thirty-ninth.”

“Extend a ten block radius around the last sighting of the van.” 

Robin complied and then held up the holographic image. Batman studied it. Brandon and Mark had both been found within the grid. Using their locations, he narrowed the grid to a five block radius. Batman’s eyes narrowed. There was an old slaughterhouse three blocks from where Brandon’s body had been found. It fit all the usual criteria that criminals always seemed to employ when using a location; large, slightly isolated and abandoned.

“Let’s go,” he told Robin, removing his grapple gun and firing overhead. 

“Go where?” 

Batman didn’t answer, but he heard Robin’s sigh of frustration as he swept off the ground. The Dark Knight frowned. He had noticed that Robin seemed to question him more than usual lately. They would need to have a talk about that later. But at least the boy was following him; he could hear the swish of his cape behind him.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the slaughterhouse. Landing just outside the building, Batman noticed the lights were on inside, but the building was supposed to be empty; something was definitely going down here.

Indicating that Robin should follow him, Batman entered the building. Blending into the shadows, they traversed the dark hallway, their destination the slaughter floor. Batman knew that not only was it the largest part of the slaughterhouse, it was the most central point of the structure, with access to virtually every other area as well as several exits. It also possessed several animal pens where the beasts waiting to be slaughtered were herded into. Pens that could be used to trap two humans and force them to fight to the death.

As they drew near the slaughter floor, a distinctly British voice could be heard yelling angrily. “Be careful, you idiots! Break anything in those crates and you’ll be reduced to vicious animals in a matter of minutes!” 

Batman scowled. He did not like what that implied.

They entered the slaughter room by the chiller and crouched behind it, remaining in the shadows while Batman assessed the situation. Six men were carrying crates out to the back yard, while a seventh man supervised from beside the scrapping table. Batman’s eyes narrowed. While the men doing all the heavy lifting were big, muscular gun-for-hire types, this man was tall and thin, and impeccably dressed in a tweed jacket. He looked distinctly out of place, yet he seemed to be the one calling the shots. 

There were just three crates left in the room, which meant the men were almost finished with their task. Batman didn’t know what their plan was, but given what the British voice had yelled moments before, he couldn’t allow them to leave with those crates.

He looked at Robin and pointed to the left. The boy nodded and disappeared into the shadows, while Batman moved silently to the right. In less than a minute, he had quietly incapacitated one of the men who had been leaning casually against the scald tub. Across the room, he could see a pair of feet disappearing behind the dressing cradle as though being dragged, and a smile graced his lips; Robin had taken out another man. 

Batman would have taken out a third and evened their odds considerably, but a loud yell from the man by the scrapping table told him the incapacitated men had been missed. Quick as a flash, he threw a smoke bomb into the centre of the room, disorienting their targets and masking their own movements. Jumping into the smoke, Batman drove a sharp punch at the nearest man’s jaw. The man tried to fight back but, blinded by the fog, he was no match for Batman and was lying unconscious on the floor in a matter of seconds.

Gunfire sounded from the other side of the room and Batman felt himself go cold. He knew Robin could handle himself, but the metallic sound of gunshots never failed to rouse in him a grim panic if Robin was patrolling with him. And always the ferocious thought, what if tonight was the night he would lose the boy?

“Stop firing, you fools!” the British voice screamed. “Don’t hit those crates!”

The gunfire ceased immediately. Batman moved in the direction of that voice, but was accosted by a large figure jumping out from the smoke. Whirling, he engaged the man in combat and found him to be a far superior fighter to his comrade. It took Batman almost a full three minutes to render him unconscious. By the time he lowered the man to the floor, the smoke had started to clear.

Looking around, his eyes landed on Robin just a few feet away, engaged in combat with the sixth man. The fifth lay unconscious by the door. But his more immediate concern was the man in the tweed jacket. In his hand he held some sort of pistol and it was aimed directly at Robin. 

The man had a calm expression on his face as he addressed Batman. “You won’t destroy what I’ve worked for years to build, Batman.” He gave a slow smile as he returned his attention to Robin and prepared to fire. “You’re going to be too busy.”

“ROBIN!” Batman yelled, diving forwards.

The boy turned as Batman flew towards him. The Dark Knight only had the briefest of seconds to register that the man Robin had been fighting was backing away quickly, his eyes wide with a sort of terror, before slamming into Robin and knocking him to the floor.

Something sharp bit him in the back of the neck as he landed on top of Robin, and Batman had a rush of realization. Not a pistol, a tranquilizer gun! Behind him, the man in tweed broke into cold laughter.

“Oh, Batman, that really was a foolish move. You would have been able to contain the boy, but what hope does he have against _you_?”

Something was wrong. He couldn’t move; his limbs went rigid as his muscles seized up. Something hot began to crawl beneath his skin and he could feel his heart rate increase.

“Batman, what’s wrong?”

Robin’s voice. Batman looked down at where the boy was pinned beneath him, staring up at him with wide, concerned eyes. He tried to respond, but all that came out was some sort of strangled sound. His mouth felt arid, dry.

“Rage, Batman,” the British voice explained gleefully, “you’ve been infected with rage. In another three or four minutes you will lose all sense of conscious reason and become nothing more than a violent, brutal animal, intent on destroying your target.” 

“Target?” Batman managed to grind out. The edges of his consciousness were blackening out. 

“My rage virus was created using pheromones,” the man answered, his voice getting further away as he headed for the door. “And it’s driven by pheromones…specifically those of the person closest to you when the virus kicks in. Your brain won’t rest until you’ve ripped that person apart.” 

Batman stared down at Robin in horror. “I won’t...do it…”

The man laughed again. “Oh, but you will. Just like Mark beat his brother to a bloody pulp last night, even with young Brandon begging him to stop!”

“No,” Batman growled, squeezing his eyes shut as a shrill whine went off in his head. The small shape shifted beneath him and, involuntarily, his hands tightened their hold on the skinny arms. Arms he had grabbed as he shoved Robin out of harm’s way, arms he held pinned against the ground right now and wouldn’t let go of, no matter how much his mind yelled at him to do so.

“Batman?” Robin whispered, and he could hear the undercurrent of fear there. No, he wasn’t going to do this, he wasn’t…

“Professor!” a rough voice shouted suddenly. “C’mon, we gotta get outta here!”

“This is where being a hero gets you, Batman,” the British voice sneered, cold pleasure coating its tones. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather be somewhere that’s away when the rage takes over.”

Then he was gone, leaving Batman and Robin alone, staring at one another.

“Batman, you have to let me up,” Robin said urgently, trying to pull himself out from underneath the man. “ _Batman!_ ”

He had to let the boy up. He knew he had to, so why couldn’t he make his body obey? Perspiration was trickling down the side of his face and his brain felt like it was on fire. He could literally feel rational thought draining away. 

Robin was really struggling beneath him now, trying desperately to free himself. Batman could feel his own hands tighten painfully on the pinned arms. His sense of smell was increasing and blood was rushing in his ears. Something hard hammered up inside his skull making him see stars and he snarled, feeling anger roll over him.

His hands squeezed hard and someone cried out in pain. “Batman! Batman, stop! Batman, you’re _hurting_ me!” 

His lips pulled across his teeth, baring them in a snarl. Whatever was crawling beneath his skin exploded, and a thousand tiny needles assaulted him. Batman howled, rage snapping in every cell of his body. 

“Bruce, please,” a desperate voice pleaded, and he blinked, the last vestiges of reason latching onto the familiar voice. Robin. His partner. 

His son. 

With considerable effort, Batman forced away the red rage tunnelling his vision and tried to focus on the scared face beneath him. “Robin,” he croaked. “Run.”

“I’m trying! But you have to let me up!” 

“I…can’t…” The words were costing him the last of his conscious thought. “Hurt…me…”

Robin blanched. “What! I can’t–”

“DO IT!” Batman roared before the red rage swallowed him whole.

oOo

Robin could barely breathe. Batman’s weight was crushing him and the man’s hands had a death grip on his arms. He struggled desperately. Batman’s face was twisting into something unrecognisable, and Robin didn’t doubt for one second what the man in the tweed jacket had said; Batman would rip him apart when the rage took over.

“Batman, you have to let me up,” he told his mentor, trying to pull out from under him. He couldn’t move. “ _Batman!_ ”

Batman didn’t budge. Robin could see sweat trickling down the side of his face from underneath the cowl, while his nostrils twitched. The man’s hands tightened on his arms, hurting him. Robin jerked. He needed to get out now!

To his horror, Batman suddenly snarled, actually snarled, and his hands squeezed so hard that Robin felt like his bones were cracking. He couldn’t stop himself from crying out in pain. “Batman! Batman, stop! Batman, you’re _hurting_ me!” 

Batman’s lips pulled across his teeth, baring them at Robin. The boy swallowed, feeling his heart start to race. He had never really been afraid of Batman before, but watching the man’s face twist into something less than human before his eyes was frightening him.

Suddenly, Batman jerked and made a howling noise that sounded more like a broken animal. Robin felt his breath catch in his throat. He needed to get through to his mentor before every shred of humanity disappeared.

“Bruce, please,” he begged, appealing to his father rather than his partner.

It seemed to work. The snarl on Batman’s face became less pronounced and his masked eyes blinked as he focused on Robin’s face. Robin could feel every inch of Batman’s body staining and trembling from where it had him pinned against the concrete.

“Robin,” he croaked. “Run.”

“I’m trying! But you have to let me up!” 

“I…can’t…” His head was starting to jerk and Robin could see he was losing control. “Hurt…me…”

His blood turned to ice. “What! I can’t–”

“DO IT!” Batman roared, before a choked growl escaped his rapidly clenching jaw and his facial expression twisted horrifically before Robin’s eyes. A massive fist slammed into Robin’s jaw, making him see stars.

Instantly the boy reacted. One hand now free, he punched upwards into Batman’s nose. A deep rumble echoed up from the bowels of his mentor’s throat and he leveraged another savage blow into Robin’s face. The boy’s head snapped to the side and through the haze of pain, he remembered Gordon telling them that it had taken eight men to subdue Mark. This rage virus obviously blunted _all_ human senses, making it harder for the victim to feel anything. Which meant that Robin had a Batman who felt nothing but rage on his hands. Great.

Another fist was driven into his jaw, followed immediately by a vicious punch to the ribs. Batman had released both of his arms and was now violently pummelling him. The boy threw up his arms to protect his head and several painful hits cracked into them. He would have to hurt Batman, _really_ hurt him, to get himself out of this.

Batman’s body was no longer rigidly pinning Robin to the floor, giving the boy room to move. During a split-second break from the barrage of fists, Robin slammed both arms upwards as hard as he could into Batman’s face, and heard something crack.

The man lurched and dropped sideways, allowing Robin to roll out from under him. Instantly, the boy snapped to his feet and raced for the door. He had nearly reached it when his head jerked as something pulled hard on his throat. Batman had seized his cape and was dragging him backwards. Before he could react, Robin found himself flying through the air where he landed hard against the scrapping table and felt something in his side snap. In a flash, Batman was on him, one hand around his throat while the other slammed viciously into his face and ribs. Blood dribbled from his nose and he could taste the coppery fluid in his mouth.

“Batman…” Robin gasped, both hands grabbing the swinging fist and holding on tight. “Stop!”

His mentor roared and the grip on his throat tightened. Robin tried not to panic as his oxygen supply was cut off. Not to panic was the first move, the first lesson. Don’t panic. He could do this. He was Robin, the Boy Wonder – he’d been trained by Batman for crying out loud!

Which would help if he wasn’t currently fighting the man himself. 

_Think, Robin, think!_ he ordered, while his arms strained and trembled as he pushed upwards against the fist trying to smash his face in.

The hand on his throat tightened brutally, and Robin made a choking noise when Batman started to batter his head against the table. Lights exploded behind his eyes and he could feel darkness bleeding in at the corners of his vision. His grip on Batman’s fist began to weaken and his consciousness started to slip away.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Robin tried to gather his thoughts. If he didn’t think of something fast, Batman would kill him!


	2. Chapter 2

_If Batman kills you, it’ll kill him!_

The thought rang through Robin’s head clear as a bell, shattering his burgeoning panic. To kill anyone would damage Batman’s psyche, but to kill his own partner…

It would destroy him.

Robin couldn’t let that happen. Gotham _needed_ Batman.

He let go of Batman’s hand, allowing the man’s fist to once more slam into his face. Fighting to remain conscious, Robin scrabbled at his utility belt, pulling out a batarang and driving it into the hand wrapped around his throat. With an angry hiss, Batman yanked his hand back. 

Able to breathe again, Robin’s vision tunnelled back to him and he jerked his head sideways to avoid the fist coming at him. It smashed into the table beside his ear. Before Batman had a chance to hit him again, he jerked his knee hard into Batman’s groin.

A strangled gurgle rolled out from the big man’s throat and he dropped to the floor, hunching over on his knees. Robin didn’t stop to smirk at how such a crude move could be so effective. Ignoring the fact that his body ached, he jumped away from Batman and ran for the door. Dashing down the dark hallway, he wrapped an arm across his throbbing ribs.

The cool night air snapped across his face as he exited the slaughterhouse, making it sting, but Robin didn’t stop to evaluate his injuries or his surroundings. Instead he fired his grapple gun and took off into the night. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest and he didn’t dare look behind him to see if Batman was following.

The thought of a murderous Batman hot on his heels terrified him.

Robin was more than a mile away from the slaughterhouse before he swept onto a roof and stopped to take a breath. He leaned against the parapet, panting heavily, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs, while he considered his options. He had a rogue Batman on his hands, what the hell was he going to do?!

Forcing himself to calm down and think rationally, Robin’s first thought was to warn Commissioner Gordon. The last thing he wanted was the Gotham PD trying to bring Batman in, but the cops needed to be warned not to approach him. Robin might be the primary target of Batman’s rage, but he had a feeling that it wasn’t just limited to him. Anyone who crossed Batman’s path could be in danger tonight! Plus, it had taken eight officers to bring Mark Saunders in, and he was just a teenager with no combat training – who knew what an infected Batman was capable of?

Robin swallowed. He didn’t want to think about that.

Swinging off the roof and heading for Gotham Police Department, Robin began to piece together a plan of action. After talking to Gordon, he needed to contact the Justice League. They were the only ones who had any chance of apprehending Batman. Robin was two blocks away from Police Headquarters when a heart-stopping thought struck him.

_Alfred!_

What if Batman returned to the cave? Formidable as he was in their everyday life, Alfred would be helpless against Batman in his current state. Robin had to warn him!

Landing on the nearest fire escape, Robin activated the holographic computer in his glove – he had lost his communicator during the fight with Batman – and called home. It seemed like an age before Alfred’s face finally appeared on the screen.

“Sir, is every– my word! Master Dick! What happened?!”

The butler’s eyes were wide in alarm and Robin could only surmise that he didn’t look so hot. But that would have to wait. He needed to get Alfred out of there. 

“Alfred, no time to explain! Defcon three, code red, broken wing! Can you meet me at our prearranged location?”

The butler blinked. “Of course, sir. Necessities?”

Robin had never been more grateful for Batman and his extreme paranoia. His insistence upon a contingency plan for every possible scenario – including an out-of-control Batman – meant Alfred wouldn’t waste time with questions he knew he’d get the answers to later. “Nothing. Just get out of there, Alfred, I’ll see you soon.”

“Very good, sir.”

The butler signed off and Robin heaved a sigh of relief. Now to warn Commissioner Gordon. 

As he swung off the fire escape, it occurred to him that he should have asked Alfred to bring a spare grapple gun; he wasn’t sure how much rope he had left in this one.

Arriving at Police Headquarters, Robin was relieved to see that the light was on in the Commissioner’s office. Good. That meant he was there and Robin wouldn’t have to waste time tracking him down. Ribs aching, he dropped onto the windowsill and climbed into the office without his usual grace. Gordon glanced up from his desk and his eyes widened. In an instant, he was on his feet and moving towards him. 

“Robin! Good Lord, son! Are you alright?!” 

“I’m fine,” said Robin, waving away his concerns. “Commissioner–”

“We need to get you to a doctor,” Gordon fretted, reaching him and tilting back his head to examine his face.

“No. That’s not–”

“Do you feel sick? Dizzy?” the officer demanded anxiously. “Christ, look at your arms! Robin, what _happened?!_ Where’s Batman?”

A little taken aback by the officer’s vehement reaction, Robin glanced down. He hadn’t really paused to take stock of his injuries other than to acknowledge that his ribs hurt, but looking at his arms now, he could see massive finger-shaped bruises blossoming at the elbows and spreading across his arms. The adrenaline wearing off, he could also feel something trickling down his left cheekbone and raised a gloved finger to swipe at it.

It came away red.

Robin was surprised; he hadn’t realized he was bleeding. Then he shook himself. _Forget that! We have bigger problems._ “Commissioner, we have a serious problem; Batman’s been infected with rage!” 

Robin couldn’t believe he’d just said that aloud. It sounded like the premise from a bad zombie movie.

The officer started. “Batman’s been…what?”

Quickly, Robin explained about the men at the slaughterhouse and what had happened to Batman.

“ _Batman_ did this to you?!” exclaimed Gordon, a horrified expression on his face. 

“He couldn’t help it!” Robin defended his mentor at once. “It was whatever that English guy shot him up with. Commissioner, you need to get the word out to every officer on the street tonight that they’re not to engage with Batman – he’s dangerous!”

“Robin–”

“Commissioner, _please!_ ”

“Fine. Don’t move.”

“But I have to–”

“You don’t have to do anything except wait right here,” the Commissioner interjected firmly. “Robin, that’s an order. I’m only going to be a few minutes and I expect you to be here when I get back.”

Robin sighed. “Yes, sir.”

The officer disappeared through the door into the outer offices and Robin briefly debated leaving while he was gone, before deciding against it. Gordon would be less than pleased and Batman had always drummed it into him how important it was to keep Gordon on their side. 

Reluctantly, Robin moved to sit down but caught sight of his face in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall – Gordon used it to make sure he didn’t look too unkempt whenever he had to face the press – and froze. No wonder the Commissioner had reacted so badly; his face looked like hamburger meat! His left cheekbone and eye were swollen and turning an impressive array of black and purple, while a large welt had opened up across his left cheekbone, blood dribbling from it. Dried blood had crusted beneath his nose, and a slow dribble of crimson weaved its way from an unseen wound beneath his hair, trickling down the side of his face. Peeking beneath the collar of his cape, Robin could just make out the blackened bruises where Batman had tried to strangle him. He swallowed and looked away from his reflection, disturbed that Batman was the one who had done this to him.

The door behind him closed with a snap and Robin whirled to find that Commissioner Gordon had returned. “Detective Bullock is getting the word out to every beat cop and patrol car in the city,” he told Robin. “No one is to approach Batman tonight.”

Robin relaxed slightly. “Good.”

“Robin, are you certain that Batman was infected with this…rage virus?” 

Robin gave Gordon an _are-you-kidding-me_ look. 

The officer sighed. “Then we have a problem. This situation might be worse than we thought.”

“What do you mean?” asked Robin. How could this get any worse?

“Mark Saunders died an hour ago,” Gordon replied, a serious expression on his face. “We won’t know anything until we get the results of the autopsy, but one of the doctors made a connection to two recent patients who died of similar symptoms.”

Dread pooled in Robin’s stomach. “Symptoms?”

“Temperature, unconsciousness, increased heart rate. But the most telling connection is that both men were arrested for extremely violent behaviour and collapsed in their cells before being moved to Gotham General.” Gordon’s expression was grim. “When they were arrested, both of them were covered in the blood of men who’d recently been beaten to death.”

“How recent?” demanded Robin, his brain working feverishly as he pieced it all together.

“Each beating had taken place somewhere between twenty-four and thirty-six hours before the men collapsed.”

Robin’s heart stopped. _This virus kills people!_ “I need to get in contact with the League right now!” he cried, moving towards the window.

“I don’t think so!” snapped Gordon, grabbing Robin’s shoulder. “There is no way in hell I’m letting you out there in that condition! You need the hospital, Robin.”

“Commissioner, I have to contact the Justice League. They’re the only ones who can bring Batman in safely!”

The Commissioner crossed his arms. “Feel free to use my phone before we leave.”

“The Justice League aren’t contactable by phone,” said Robin in exasperation. 

“Robin, you need medical attention–”

“And I’ll get it! But, Commissioner, this is more important. Batman’s life is at stake here! Besides, until the League can bring him in, he’s a threat to every person that he meets.”

Gordon looked deeply unhappy. “Fine. But, Robin, the second you’ve contacted the League, you get _help_.”

“I will,” Robin promised, moving to the window. “Oh, and, Commissioner? It might be a good idea not to send any officers to the slaughterhouse until the League have checked if Batman is still there.”

“I won’t. Keep me updated, Robin, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, climbing out through the window and firing his grapple gun. His ribs twanged painfully as he swung away from the Commissioner’s office. He would have to get them looked at when he reached Mount Justice. 

Since he’d lost his communicator during the fight with Batman, Robin figured his best move was to head for Mount Justice. He could contact the League and get his injuries taken care of; two birds, one stone. 

He was heading for the nearest zeta-tube but had only gone a couple of blocks when something slammed into him and sent him crashing down onto the nearest rooftop. Smashing into the concrete, Robin felt his grapple gun slip from his fingers and skitter across the roof before dropping off the edge to the street below. Dazed, he scrambled to his feet and flipped to avoid the large black shadow that landed beside him and swung at him.

_Batman! How did he find me?!_

Robin produced his escrima sticks and twisted to avoid Batman as he charged at him, bringing one of the sticks down on Batman’s head in a crashing blow. The man stumbled, and Robin used the opportunity to run to the edge of the roof and launch himself onto the next building. He ignored the cry of protest from his injured ribs as he landed, darting quickly across the roof and leaping onto the next one.

The thump of someone landing immediately after him followed. Robin whirled and flung two exploding batarangs at his mentor. The man ducked the first but the second one landed in front of him where it went off, propelling him back several feet and once more putting distance between him and Robin. The boy turned and ran, jumping onto yet another building where he released several smoke bombs in an effort to camouflage his trail.

It didn’t work. He had no sooner vaulted onto the next roof when he heard Batman coming after him. With a groan of desperation, Robin kept running. His heart was in his mouth as he continued to leap across rooftops. He could hear the grunts Batman was making as he pursued him. He needed to get out of Batman’s line of sight, but how?

The answer came in the form of a large building under construction up ahead. Brickwork had begun on the bottom half, but the top half of the building was still little more than a steel structure with exposed beams and tarps. There were more than enough hiding places amongst all that construction that Robin could use to drop out of sight and escape to the street below. He knew he had to get off the rooftops; he was way too exposed up here.

By now, his ribs were screaming at him and he wished he hadn’t dropped his grapple gun because this was so much _harder_ without it. Reaching the edge of the final building before the one under construction, Robin took a flying leap…

…and felt someone slam into him from behind. As they sailed through the air, Batman made a snarling nose and gripped him tightly. Robin thought he just might stop breathing from fear. 

They crashed into the steel beams of the half-finished structure, and Robin’s reflexes had him instinctively grabbing for the beams. His whole body snapped painfully as their fall was halted. Unfortunately, the weight of Batman still clinging to his waist was too much and Robin felt his grip immediately start to weaken.

It seemed futile to try and reason with his mentor, but Robin knew he wouldn’t be able to hold them up. Batman had obviously tracked him from the slaughterhouse so there had to be some semblance of intelligence left that he could try to reason with. “B-Batman,” he managed to gasp out. “Let. Go!”

In response, Batman drove a fist into his lower back before grabbing onto Robin’s shoulder where he proceeded to pull himself up. Robin screamed through gritted teeth; the stretching sensation on his battered ribs caused by Batman’s weight made him feel like he was being ripped in two. Blood pounding in his head and pain roaring through him, the tenuous grip Robin had on the metal beam weakened and he let go.

They both dropped into an immediate freefall, Batman releasing Robin as they fell. Once more, Robin’s quick reflexes kicked in and he grabbed at the next set of support beams. Latching on tightly, and without Batman’s weight pulling him down, he was able to climb up onto the half-finished floor. Glancing down to check if Batman was okay, he spotted the man hanging from a metal beam on the level below. He was grunting as he scrabbled to pull himself up. Robin instinctively moved to help until the man looked up and bared his teeth in a snarl, causing Robin to take a step back. Batman’s features hadn’t been altered in the physical sense, but there was still something inhuman about them that frightened him.

Miserably, Robin turned his back on his mentor and headed into the center of the building. He was breathing heavily from a combination of exertion and injury, and tried to quiet the sound. He would need to be completely silent if he hoped to hide from Batman. He passed several flapping tarps before discovering a ladder leading down to the floor below. With a sigh of resignation, Robin began to descend; without his grapple gun and with pain lighting up his ribs, it was his best way down.

He reached the bottom and found another ladder two feet away extending to the next level again. Hurriedly, Robin moved for that ladder and continued his descent. He was just heading for the third ladder when Batman landed on him from above, knocking him face first into the ground. 

Fists cracked into his back, making his injured ribs pound sickeningly. Flat on his stomach and with Batman straddling him, he had no way to defend himself against the barrage of fists hammering into him. Trained to near instinct, Robin reached for his utility belt instead…until a massive hand grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind him, almost dislocating his shoulder. He yelled in pain as another hit cracked into his shoulder blade. Robin thought he might throw up from the pain that shivered through him – made all the worse by the fact that the person inflicting this on him was the person he trusted most in the world.

_Don’t be such a baby, Grayson! Suck it up!_

Robin didn’t have time for self-pity. Right now, he had to get out of this. Rolling into a slight sideways crouch to alleviate the pressure on his shoulder and hide his free hand from view, Robin reached into his utility belt and pulled out a small taser, which he immediately pressed against Batman’s leg. The man jerked backwards and released Robin’s arm, allowing him to twist sideways and jab the taser into the centre of Batman’s chest. The Dark Knight spasmed, before making a strange, choking noise and flopping sideways, while Robin used the opportunity to roll onto his back and scoot out from under him. 

Realizing his prey was escaping, Batman lurched forward, but Robin once more drove the taser into his chest while he continued to backpedal, eventually putting enough distance between them to enable him to get back on his feet. 

The Dark Knight was panting as he lumbered to a standing position and Robin backed away, hand shaking as he held the taser out in front of him. Batman’s eyes narrowed and he stalked after him slowly, eyes on Robin and the taser. Robin continued to back away with no clue what to do next, until he caught sight of a flash of yellow extending out and down from the open exterior of the building.

Hope flooded him. It was one of those rubber tubes for the removal of debris from the upper floors of buildings under construction; a time saving edifice that allowed builders to drop rubbish into a skip on the ground. Instead of dropping straight down, the tubes sloped for the purpose of gravity; it was safer for the freefall of unwanted to debris to slow before hitting the skip. 

And Robin was the perfect size to slide down one of those tubes. 

Throwing another smoke bomb at Batman, Robin raced for the rubber tube. His heart was pounding from fear and he could hear his mentor thundering after him. Reaching the tube, Robin dived into it and was nearly strangled as Batman seized his cape before he could drop. He twisted to hit Batman with the taser again, but the man grabbed his wrist before it connected. Releasing Robin’s cape, Batman grasped his utility belt and started to pull the boy up out of the tube.

Robin quickly switched the taser into his free hand and drove it into Batman’s neck. The man jerked and gurgled before dropping Robin’s wrist, but maintained a death grip on his utility belt. Legs dangling in the tube, Robin had a split-second to decide what to do…

He opened the catch on his belt.

The drop was quicker than he’d expected, and Robin had no time to ready himself before he _whooshed_ down the tube, Batman’s angry roar echoing after him. It was an uncomfortable slide down; debris dust caught in his eyes and throat, making him gasp, while the smaller bits of rubble that had gotten caught in the crevices bit and tore at him. Several seconds later, Robin was flung out into the skip where he landed hard against a mass of concrete detritus, the taser in his hand smashing on impact.

“Ow,” he managed, winded.

Not giving himself the chance to recover or catch his breath, Robin pulled himself to his feet and launched himself out of the skip, before limping away quickly. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but he needed to get out of the open before he evaluated his surroundings.

Turning into the first dark alley that he came across, Robin hurried down it and then crisscrossed through two more. He came out on a dark, dingy little street with an abandoned lot just across from him. There was another, smaller alley directly behind that and Robin made for it, determined to get lost.

“Well, well,” jeered a voice to his left as he entered the alley. “What do we have here?”

Robin silently raged at the universe; it seemed luck was most definitely not on his side tonight. He watched as three shapes unraveled themselves from the shadows and three men emerged. One was short and fat, with his ratty hair tied in a long ponytail. The second was tall and muscular with a shaved head, bare arms and several tattoos, while the third was of average height with a stocky build and cold eyes that were glued to Robin with an intensity the boy couldn’t identify. 

“Ain’t it past your bedtime, kid?” asked the short one, revealing a mouth of rotted teeth.

Robin didn’t respond.

“Awww, not gonna answer me?”

“Maybe he’s shy?” suggested the tall one, stepping towards Robin.

“Or maybe he’s working?” countered the third, circling the boy with a horrible smirk that Robin couldn’t quite fathom. He’d never seen a grin like that before.

“Is that it, kid? You working?” demanded the fat one, shuffling to the left. “’Cause if you’re working, you gotta pay a toll.”

They were surrounding him, Robin realized, trying to block his escape out of the alley.

“Hey, kid, you dumb or what?” demanded the tall one. “We’re talking to you!”

“Maybe he can’t talk,” sniggered the fat guy, drawing closer. “Might be a good thing, means no one can hear him scream!”

“I bet I could make him scream,” leered the third guy, leaning in close. “Bet he screams _real_ pretty.”

Robin scowled. Were they freaking kidding him with this?! Wally and Roy never had to take this type of trash talk! And anyone stupid enough to try it on Superboy was likely to find themselves up close and personal with the nearest wall.

The three men continued to circle him, whooping with laughter and catcalling things that made his blood run cold. Despite the fact that he was running on fumes, Robin debated the merits of attacking them first; he needed to end this before all their whooping and hollering brought Batman down here. 

But then the man with the cold eyes made his move. He grabbed at Robin and the boy twisted sharply, drawing a vehement protest from his ribs. He smashed his fist into the man’s jaw and leveraged a sweeping kick to the lower leg that dropped the man like a stone.

“What the–?” cried the fat guy, while the tall one ran at Robin with his fist outstretched. 

Robin swiftly sidestepped and grabbed the fist, using the man’s forward momentum to chuck him face first into the alley wall. “Walk away and I won’t hurt you,” Robin told them, fists up as he shifted into a defensive posture. His heart was racing as he tried to keep from breathing too deeply and giving away the state of his injuries. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this up for long and hoped they wouldn’t call his bluff.

The fat guy backed away with wide eyes, while the stocky one clutched his jaw as he clambered to his feet. The big man was groaning, pulling himself upright with the aid of the wall, one hand to his head. All three of them eyed him warily.

“Hey!” the big one cried suddenly. “Ain’t he the Bat’s brat?”

“The Bat!” The fat guy looked around in such panic that Robin almost laughed. “We gotta get outta here!” 

They made as though to run until the third man yelled out, “STOP!” 

The big guy looked at him incredulously. “Ed, are you crazy? If the Bat–”

“The Bat’s not here,” he replied, cold eyes calculating as they studied Robin. “And I don’t think he’s anywhere nearby. Haven’t you noticed? The kid’s not looking so hot.”

They stopped moving away and Robin’s heart sank. They were calling his bluff.

The one with the cold eyes smiled gleefully. “What’s the matter, little birdie? Lose daddy?”

The three men closed in again and Robin tensed, keeping his defenses up. He was exhausted and injured with no weapons to fight back. How the heck was he going to get out of this?!

But then there was a familiar swish and it felt like the temperature in the alley dropped by several degrees. A dark shape loomed out of the shadows and Robin felt his breath catch in his throat. 

Batman.

The fat man saw him first and gave a little high-pitched scream of terror that made the other two turn. Seeing the dark shape closing in on them, they made angry noises and the large one pulled out a chain from his pocket and wrapped it around his fist. The other produced a switchblade. Together they rushed at Batman.

Swiftly, the Dark Knight sidestepped the switchblade and threw a savage punch into the biggest one’s face before whirling on the man with the knife. Within seconds, all three were locked in a deadly confrontation.

Robin didn’t wait to see who would be the victor. Against every instinct he possessed, he turned and fled down the alley. His mentor would be fine. He was Batman, he could take guys like these with one hand tied behind his back! Batman would be fine. 

But Robin wouldn’t be. He knew without any doubt that a third encounter with Batman would kill him.


	3. Chapter 3

Robin was wheezing slightly as he raced out of the alley and turned down onto another dingy little street. His ribs felt like they were on fire and it was agony to take a breath. He passed several abandoned buildings that he could have hidden in, but they were all too obvious; Batman might check them after dealing with the three thugs.

Because Robin knew he would come after him. Whatever the demented British guy had put in that virus was forcing Batman to track Robin across the city. When the man had told Batman that he wouldn’t rest until he’d ripped him apart, he’d meant it literally. 

As he ran, Robin tried very hard to ignore the shrill whine of panic going off in his head, screaming at him that there was no way he could outrun Batman, that his own mentor was going to kill him.

 _No, you can do this!_ Robin insisted harshly. He’d been trained by Batman and he was smart in his own right, he could do this. 

But it was hard not to give into the desperation when he passed an old, burnt-out movie theatre that he recognised and which told him where he was; the Narrows. The mad dash across the rooftops had driven him into the worst part of Gotham…and several miles from the nearest zeta-tube. He needed to get off the streets. He was a sitting duck if he ran into anyone else – Batman and Robin weren’t the most popular of people in the Narrows.

Deciding to change tactics, Robin ignored the host of abandoned buildings that surrounded him and stopped outside a small, rundown café instead. Whatever semblance of rational thought Batman was using to track him, he would never suspect him of breaking and entering. Robin swiftly disabled the alarm and picked the lock on the back door, before slipping quietly into the little kitchen and closing the door behind him.

Alone in the dark, Robin leaned back against the wall. Gasping and shaking, he slid slowly to the ground. Blood was pounding in his head while his heart hammered so hard against his ribs he thought it might explode in his chest. 

It took several minutes before his breathing returned to normal and he was able to think clearly. Cold, harsh reality hit him hard; he wasn’t making it to the zeta-tube. Not with Batman tracking him and not in his current state. He would have to find another way to contact the League. Robin glanced at the gauntlet that held his holographic computer. It was linked to the Batcave and Mount Justice, but Batman had flat out refused to sync it with the Watchtower systems because he knew only too well that Robin would be tempted to try and hack the system, just to see if he could. 

Robin couldn’t disagree with his mentor on that; he’d already planned to attempt hacking the Watchtower from Mount Justice just as soon as he had the chance. But knowing Batman was right didn’t make his predicament any easier. He couldn’t contact the Watchtower and Alfred would have left the Batcave by now, leaving Mount Justice as his only option. Robin just hoped that despite being Friday night, there would be someone at the cave. Leaning his throbbing arms on his knees, he activated the computer.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Robin tried again. Still nothing. Fingers shaking, he peeled back the small strips to reveal a mass of mangled circuits. At some point during the night’s events, they had obviously gotten damaged.

With a groan of despair, Robin dropped his head against the wall with a dull _thunk._ He couldn’t do this. He’d been driven to his physical, mental and emotional limit, all within the last two hours. He was exhausted, he was injured, and running for his life from the closest thing he had to a father. Robin couldn’t do this; it was too much.

 _Yes, you can!_ a little voice in his head rallied furiously. _Batman didn’t train you so that you could give up when things get hard! He’s depending on you. You’re supposed to be his partner so BE one!_

Robin sighed. Batman was counting on him. The virus would kill him unless Robin got help – and help wasn’t going to just magically arrive while he sat here on his ass. Not to mention that he didn’t have time. Batman didn’t have time.

 _So what are my options?_ Robin knew he needed help, that much was obvious. There was no way he was bringing Batman in by himself, and the police certainly wouldn’t be able to do it, not without hurting Batman. And Robin refused to put the only parent he had in the line of fire. The League were the only way to do this. But how was he going to contact them?

The answer when it came to him was so simple that Robin could have smacked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Wally! He could call Wally and get him to contact Barry. Forcing down the miserable din of protest from his ribs, Robin clambered to his feet. There had to be a phone around here somewhere.

He found one behind the counter in the café, but when he picked up the receiver there was no dial tone. The phone was dead; either it had been cut off or it wasn’t working. Robin chewed anxiously on his bruised lip, staring at the closed shutters on the window. He would have to go out into the streets again to find a phone. 

The thought filled him with dread. Leaving the relative safety of the café meant risking another run-in with Batman, or some thug who would love nothing more than to beat his brains in. And what if Robin had been seen while he was running away from Batman and the three men? The word might already be out on the streets that he was in the Narrows, and that he was defenseless.

Robin knew he would be in big trouble if that happened, because then the gangs would be out in force looking for him.

 _But you’re in trouble already,_ he reminded himself. _And leaving here is the only way out of it._

Resigned, Robin slipped out the back door of the café and used the shadows to steal quietly down the street. The few minutes of rest in the café had bought him enough time to get his breathing under control, and he was silent as he moved through the streets, searching for a payphone.

Four blocks from the café and for the first time since this whole nightmare had started, Robin finally got lucky. There was a payphone just outside an empty parking lot. Hurrying towards it, he picked it up and was relieved to hear the hum of a dial tone. Quickly, he placed a call collect to Wally in Central City.

Two minutes later, the welcome sound of Wally’s voice reverberated down the phone. “Dude, _you’re_ placing a call collect to _me?_ ”

He sounded annoyed. “I’m not at home,” Robin explained quickly, “this is a public phone booth.”

Wally took the hidden warning not to say too much on an open line. “What’s up?”

“I need you to get a _grownup,_ really _fast_ ,” Robin replied, scanning his surroundings for any signs of a threat. 

“Oh, am I not good enough?” 

Robin was taken aback at the hostility in Wally’s voice. “This is something I need an adult for, Wally, so can you please just get one?” 

“I’m the errand boy now, is that it?”

Robin was bewildered. He had no idea where this was coming from. “What’s your problem, dude?”

“If you don’t know then I’m not going to tell you!”

Robin almost grabbed his hair in frustration. “Wally, quit being an idiot!

“I’m not an idiot!”

“Then stop acting like one!” 

“You think I’m acting like one?” Wally’s voice was angry. “Fine! I’ll show you idiot–”

“Wally, _please!_ ” Robin interjected quickly, realizing that his friend was about to hang up. “I’m in really big trouble!” 

There was silence for a moment before Wally responded. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the Narrows, but I need to get out of sight.” Robin darted his eyes around the area once more. His gaze fell on the old Clock Tower rising above the dilapidated buildings several blocks away. Perfect. “Send him to the old Clock Tower in the heart of the Narrows. I’ll be hiding in there.”

“Okay. But why do you have to hide? Are you alright?”

Robin could hear concern in Wally’s voice now. “Wally, I promise I’ll explain later, but can you just get that grownup? Really _fast_?”

“Okay, Rob, just hang tight.”

And then Wally was gone. Robin cast a last glance around the street before heading for the Clock Tower. He hoped he could make it there without running into anymore trouble.

oOo

Wally was torn between worry and anger when he arrived in Gotham City. He hadn’t been able to contact his uncle like Robin had wanted, so he had set out for Gotham instead.

His anger at Robin had made him wonder if the younger boy was pulling some sort of prank on him – it wouldn’t be the first time they had done such a thing to one another – until his rational side had argued that Robin wouldn’t have looked for Flash’s help if this was just a prank. Besides, Robin had sounded scared, and that more than anything was what had Wally worried.

Robin was never scared. Ever. Batman had long ago trained that out of him. It was something that Wally was both a little in awe of and freaked out by; how was it possible for Robin to do this job and not get scared from time to time? Wally had superpowers and he still had the occasional freak-out! It bothered him sometimes that Robin never seemed to get scared. Wally was two and a half years older and he still had a whole mesh of insecurities. Robin was only thirteen, yet he never seemed to doubt himself. Not to mention that he was way more respected by the League than Wally was. 

Wally frowned. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Robin, but sometimes he wished that he could be viewed with the same respect. It was his biggest insecurity that no one ever took him seriously – which was why he was so mad at Robin right now. Robin was his best friend. He knew all of his fears and insecurities, but that hadn’t stopped him from picking at them in front of everyone on Santa Prisca. Wally had been hurt by Robin’s comments, especially the snide ‘yeah, you’re the thinker’ crack, but had shrugged it off because they were on a mission. However, it was now two days later and the comment still stung, made all the worse by the fact that Robin still hadn’t apologized. The younger boy could admit that he wasn’t ready to lead in front of the rest of their teammates, yet he couldn’t apologize to his best friend for hurting his feelings? It frustrated Wally. So when Robin had called him looking for Flash’s help instead of his, Wally had felt annoyed, rejected and hurt. 

He knew he hadn’t been the most mature person in the world on the phone, but if the younger boy could be so immature when it suited him, why couldn’t Wally?

He heard the skewed logic even as the thought occurred to him.

Sighing, Wally paused to evaluate his surroundings as he arrived in the Narrows – he’d heard stories from Robin about how dangerous it was. Spying the Clock Tower rising up in the distance, Wally zoomed in that direction. Entering the dilapidated structure, he ran upstairs but found no sign of Robin. He tried him on his communicator and frowned when he got nothing but static. 

“Rob, this had better not be some joke!” he yelled, glancing around the dark belfry.

No response.

Wally circled the room a few times to make sure he hadn’t missed the other boy hiding in a corner somewhere, but found nothing. He could feel apprehension tickle at the back of his neck. Where was he?

“ROBIN!” he bellowed.

“Shhhhh!” came the answering response, and a small shadow dropped on him from above, making Wally cry out in surprise.

“KF, quiet!” Robin hissed, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet?” repeated Wally in annoyance, yanking Robin’s hand off his mouth. “Why didn’t you answer me the first time?”

“I didn’t hear you,” Robin admitted. “I think I fell asleep.”

 _Fell asleep?_ Wally frowned. That didn’t sound like Robin. He squinted at the small shape in the darkness, but could see nothing other than a vague outline. “Dude, you okay?”

“Fine. Where’s Flash?”

“Don’t know. I can’t get him on his communicator.”

“What about the rest of the League?” There was a tinge of desperation to Robin’s voice.

“Uh, no. You never said anything about them.”

Robin groaned. “Please tell me you at least brought your communicator?”

“Duh.” Wally was starting to get a little annoyed. He’d run all this way and he still wasn’t good enough? “Sorry I’m not who you were expecting.” 

He cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. They sounded petty and childish, and whatever was going on here, now clearly wasn’t the time for it. Wally really wished he had an off button for his mouth sometimes.

Robin was silent for a moment before responding. “KF, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

Robin’s hand landed on his arm. “It’s not. Walls, are you…upset with me about something?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wally muttered, feeling his face go warm in the dark. How could he explain without sounding like a total girl? Even thinking it made him feel like a sissy!

“Wally–”

Suddenly, an owl hooted somewhere to their left and glided out from the shadows, making them both jump. 

Wally gave a sheepish chuckle, watching it exit through the broken clock face before turning back to Robin. He was startled to realize that the younger boy had backed away and had his fists up in a fighting stance; Wally could just discern the outline of his defensive posture in the darkness. He raised an eyebrow. “Dude, chill. It’s just an owl.” 

“Shhhhh!” Robin hissed, head frantically swivelling left and right as he scanned the shadows. His body was rigid and he didn’t lower his fists.

Wally was completely bewildered. If he didn’t know better, he would have said Robin was scared. “Dude, what–”

“KF, DUCK!” Robin screamed.

Something solid connected with Wally’s head and lights exploded behind his eyes. He stumbled and fell against the wall just as a dark shadow swept past him. Shaking his head to clear it, Wally looked up and saw Robin struggling with the dark shape. There was a sickening crack as a fist collided with the younger boy’s jaw.

“Get off him!” Wally yelled, springing forward. 

The dark shape whirled faster than Wally had anticipated and smashed a fist into his jaw, sending him reeling. Another fist cracked off the side of his head making him see stars. But before the shadow could hit him again, it dropped with a grunt.

Wally looked up and could just see Robin backing into the shadows, fists up once more. The dark shadow on the floor gave a chillingly familiar growl and leapt at him, drawing a small gasp from Robin as hands closed around his neck.

Wally didn’t waste any time. Backing up to give himself a running start, he raced forward and jumped at the dark shape, landing a vicious kick to the back of its knee that caused it to buckle, before using the momentum to vault over its head and land beside Robin. Before he could ask what was going on, the shape on the floor snarled and lunged at them, forcing them to jump apart. A sliver of moonlight illuminated its face briefly and Wally was stunned when he recognized an all too familiar cowl.

“Dude! Why the hell is _Batman_ attacking us?!”

The man in question whirled on him and Wally ducked the enormous fist coming at him, wincing at the sound it made as it collided with the wall behind him. Before the man could strike again, Wally zoomed to the other side of the belfry where he snapped on his goggles and switched them to night vision mode. Throwing his gaze around, Wally spotted Batman swinging at Robin on the other side of the tower. Robin ducked the first fist, but the second one smacked into his chest and sent him crashing to the ground.

Wally was there in a second, using his speed to smash into Batman and propel him away from Robin. Twisting, Wally ran and launched himself at the wall, bouncing off of it and using the momentum to send the charging Batman flying into the far wall. 

“KF, we need to get out of here!” Robin wheezed, as Wally landed beside him.

Wally didn’t need to be told twice. He seized Robin and ran for the stairs, zooming past an angry Batman who grabbed at them. The furious roar that echoed after them as Wally zipped down the stairs made his blood run cold.

“Keep going!” Robin yelled as they exited the Clock Tower. “Put some distance between us!”

Wally was only too happy to obey. Batman on a good day had the potential to scare the crap out of him, Batman tonight freaking terrified him!

As he ran, he could feel Robin’s head pressed firmly against his chest, face turned inwards, while one hand had a death grip on Wally’s shoulder. He gave a slight grin knowing that travelling by speedster was not exactly Robin’s favourite way to travel.

They reached the far side of the city where Wally judged it to be a safe enough distance to stop and get some answers. Coming to a halt on a quiet street, he put Robin down and immediately began to babble at high speed. “Dude, what the _hell_ was that?! Batman freaking _attacked_ us! He…”

Wally’s voice trailed off and his eyes widened as Robin turned to face him. The younger boy’s face was a mass of bruises, his left cheekbone and eye swollen to twice their usual size. A large, jagged cut scissored across his left cheekbone while patches of dried blood had crusted beneath it. Enormous black bruises were blossoming across his arms, and Wally was nearly positive he could see similar bruising peeking beneath the collar of his cape. He let out a high-pitched screech of horror and grabbed Robin’s shoulders. 

“Rob! Ohmygodareyouokay? Dude, what happened? What’s going on? Crap, are you okay? Did Batman do this? Ohmygodohmygod!”

Wally was flipping out. What the heck had happened tonight?!

“KF, breathe.” Robin gave him his patented _Wally-calm-thy-tits_ look and carefully removed his hands from his shoulders.

“ _Breathe?!_ Are you freaking _kidding_ me? Dude. What. _Happened?_ ” Wally had no intention of relaxing anytime soon. He was freaked and he planned to stay that way.

“Batman’s been infected with rage,” Robin replied, studying their surroundings with a thoughtful frown.

“Rage?! What the heck does that– wait! You mean Batman really did do this to you?! SERIOUSLY?!”

Robin winced. “KF, lower the volume, you’re approaching sonar.”

Wally complied, his nerves making him vibrate on the spot instead. “Rob, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain when we’re somewhere safe. Batman keeps finding me so we need to get off the streets.” Robin rubbed at his ribs, his expression exhausted. “I know where we can go, but can you contact the League first? We need help.”

“Yeah, we do,” Wally muttered fervently, raising a hand to his ear. He groaned aloud when he realized his communicator was gone.

“What’s wrong?” asked Robin.

“Comm’s gone. It must have fallen out when Batman hit me.”

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me!” Robin made a sharp little noise and closed his eyes. Wally could see him clench his fists tightly.

“Uh, Rob?” he ventured, uncertain. “What’s wrong?”

The younger boy sighed and opened his eyes. “Nothing. Let’s just get off the streets. I don’t think I can take another run-in with Batman.”

Wally had a feeling Robin wasn’t just talking about a physical encounter, but knew better than to push it. “So where are we going?”

“The Bluebird Hotel. It’s not far from here. Alfred should be there.”

“Alfred?”

“Our butler.”

Wally raised an eyebrow. Butler? Oh right, Batman was freakishly rich in his civilian persona. “Rob, you bring me and he’s gonna know that you revealed your secret ID.”

Robin looked grim. “Right now that’s the least of our worries.”

“Your call. But once Batman is back to normal, don’t blame me if he kills you.”

Robin smacked Wally upside the head for his choice of words.


	4. Chapter 4

With Robin directing him, it didn’t take Wally long to arrive at the Bluebird Hotel. Much to his surprise, it turned out to be one of the grottiest hotels he had ever seen in his life. Putting Robin down, Wally squinted up at the dilapidated structure. Bruce Wayne was one of the richest men in the world, what were they doing _here?_

“It’s one of the last places Batman would think of looking for us,” Robin explained, divining his thoughts. “Batman had me and Alfred develop a contingency plan in the event of…well, something like this.”

Wally rolled his eyes. “Contingency plan? Seriously? You know, this puts Bats’ paranoia on a whole new level!”

“You really gonna disagree with it after tonight?” Robin countered, walking away. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” Wally asked, a little confused as he followed Robin into the alley beside the hotel.

“We can’t enter by the front, people would see us,” Robin told him, looking up at the hotel fire escape. “Alfred will have– there!” 

Wally looked up at where Robin was pointing and saw a little potted plant at an open window on the third floor. “This part of the contingency plan?”

“Yes.” Robin took a step forward and then hesitated, glancing from the fire escape to Wally and back again. Finally, he sighed. “KF, can you boost me?”

“Boost you?” Wally blinked in surprise and looked at the first level of the fire escape, a large dumpster almost directly below it. Even without the dumpster the jump should have been a piece of cake to Robin. “Dude, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a little stiff after the fight with Batman.” 

Wally studied him suspiciously. Why didn’t he believe him?

Robin gave an annoyed huff. “Quit staring, KF! You gonna boost me or not?”

Without a word, Wally moved over beneath the fire escape and braced himself, clasping his hands together. Then he nodded at Robin.

At once, the other boy backed up before running directly at him. Placing one foot in Wally’s clasped hands, Robin vaulted awkwardly towards the first level of the fire escape, Wally propelling him upwards with his hands.

The red-haired speedster watched Robin clamber onto the first level of the fire escape and frowned. Something was off about the way Robin was moving; it was stilted and had none of his usual grace. He zoomed after the younger boy and started to climb the fire escape just behind him. “What’s wrong?” 

“KF, that’s a dumb question considering the situation,” Robin retorted, continuing to ascend the metal ladder.

But Wally’s insecurities weren’t biting right now – not when he could hear a slight breathlessness to Robin’s voice, not when it was obvious that the younger boy was deliberately baiting him to throw attention off himself. “Nice try, Rob.” He paused while he tried to guess the problem. “Busted ribs, is that it?”

Robin’s answering silence told Wally he was right. He sighed. “Dude, why would you even try to hide it? _That’s_ dumb.”

Robin ignored him. 

They reached the third level of the fire escape and Robin climbed in the window with the potted plant. Shaking his head, Wally clambered in after him to a somewhat grubby hotel room. A tall, thin man scrubbing at a table straightened up and turned to face them as they entered. Wally could see that he was wearing an apron and blinked. _What the heck?_

“Alfred, are you cleaning?” Robin demanded, a note of amusement in his voice.

“Naturally, sir. This room is probably full of things I would rather not have knowledge of, so the best approach is to eliminate them all.” His eyes moved to Wally and he raised an expectant eyebrow.

Robin reacted accordingly. “Alfred, this is Wally West. Wally, this is Alfred.”

Alfred inclined his head towards Wally. “It is very nice to meet you, young sir. I have heard rather a lot about you.”

“Um, thanks. You too.”

“Indeed?” 

“Not heard stuff about you!” Wally amended quickly when Robin shot him a glare. “I meant it’s nice to meet you too.”

Alfred merely looked at them both and Wally shuffled awkwardly. Somehow it felt like this guy could see right through him.

Beside him, Robin gave a resigned sigh. “Alright, fine. He knows, Alfred. I told him.”

Alfred nodded as though he had expected as much. “Very good, sir. Now that we’ve dispensed with the formalities, why don’t I take a look at those injuries while you fill me in on tonight’s events?”

It was phrased as a suggestion, so why did Wally feel like it was an order?

He watched, slightly bewildered, as Robin moved over and dropped into a chair beside the table, while Alfred picked up a small black bag from the luggage propped neatly by the door.

“Master West,” he addressed Wally as he placed the bag on the table and opened it, “could I possibly ask you to remove the plant from the window, and then close both the window and the drapes?”

“Uh, sure.” Wally quickly complied and turned back just in time to see Alfred coating his hands in sanitizing gel.

Robin quirked an eyebrow. “Hand sanitizer, Alfie?”

“You would prefer if I tended to your wounds after attempting to clean this room?” 

Robin glanced around. “I see your point.” 

“Good. Remove your mask please.”

Robin obeyed, wincing as he peeled away the little domino mask, until finally Dick Grayson’s blue eyes were blinking at Wally.

“If you would be so kind as to narrate tonight’s events, Master Dick?” Alfred prompted, examining the boy’s heavily bruised eye. 

Dick immediately launched into an explanation about fight clubs. Wally listened with growing horror to what had happened in the slaughterhouse, how Robin had found himself incommunicado, and the ensuing mad dash across Gotham. As Dick concluded, Wally gawped at him. His friend had done all of that while injured? How? One encounter with Batman tonight had been enough to make Wally want to head for the hills!

Alfred’s stoic expression never left his face. “It would appear we have quite the quandary on our hands, young sir,” he commented as he finished tending to Dick’s bruises. “Now, please remove your cape and tunic.”

“What! Why?” 

“Because I would like to inspect those ribs you have been so valiantly trying to hide from me.”

Wally smirked as Dick glowered. He was really starting to like this Alfred guy. However, his grin wasn’t long in fading when Dick divested himself of his cape and tunic. Before he could think about it, Wally had zipped over to the younger boy.

“Rob! Ohmygod…DUDE!”

Wally could feel his eyes bugging in his head as he goggled at Dick’s torso. The entire right side of his chest was a solid wall of black and purple, while a ring of livid, finger-shaped bruises adorned his throat. A quick dart behind his chair showed an equally unpleasant block of colour stretching across Dick’s back. Wally swallowed, trying to wrap his head around Batman being the one to do this to him.

“Can you guys not look at me like that?” asked Dick uncomfortably, folding his arms across his chest in a slightly defensive gesture. “Let’s just worry about contacting the League.”

“Want me to zeta to Mount Justice and contact them from there?” Wally asked, tearing his eyes away from Dick’s injuries.

“I do not believe that will be required,” Alfred interrupted. “Master Dick, I know that you told me you did not require anything when you contacted me earlier. However, I deemed it more prudent to have a few essential items to hand and took the liberty of bringing several necessities with me from the cave. A communicator was one such item.”

Even to Wally, the relief on Dick’s face was blatantly obvious. “Alfred, what would we do without you?”

“I shudder to think,” he replied, pulling a small communicator out of the black bag. He handed it to Dick, who immediately inserted it into his ear.

“Robin calling Justice League, HOJ slash Watchtower, B 01, priority red.” 

Within seconds, Dick’s posture relaxed. “Green Arrow, its Robin. We have a situation in Gotham; Batman’s been infected with rage. Can you send a couple of League members to bring him in until we can find the cure?” Dick tilted his head as he listened to the response. “Pretty dangerous,” he replied after a moment. 

“We could use some serious help….Wally’s with me.” 

Dick fell silent again, this time for several minutes. Wally could see his body stiffen once more as he listened to whatever Green Arrow was telling him. Then Dick frowned. “Surely Black Canary and Flash aren’t….oh. Well, what about–?”

Wally felt his stomach drop at the look on Dick’s face. Something was wrong.

Dick sighed. “Okay, GA, we’ll keep things under control as best we can for now. But, Ollie, will you send someone as soon as you can? Please?” 

Dick’s voice shook a little at the end and Wally drooped. It sounded like help wasn’t coming.

“Okay, thanks. Robin out.” Dick removed the communicator from his ear.

“Nobody’s coming, are they?” Wally asked.

“Nobody’s coming,” Dick confirmed quietly.

“But…” Wally was bewildered. This was serious; how could help not be coming? “Why?”

Dick unconsciously rubbed at his ribs. “There’s some kind of alien ship attacking earth. Most of the League are manning earth’s celestial defences. Green Arrow and Zatara are tied up with defending the Watchtower because it’s not weaponized.”

“What about the Leaguers who aren’t fighting?” Wally demanded. “I heard you mention Flash and Black Canary, where are they?”

“Off world. Some sort of creature attacked Manhattan this afternoon and they’re returning it to its home planet. Aquaman and Hawkman went with them because apparently the thing is huge. They left before the alien attack happened. Ollie said he’s been trying to radio Batman for backup.” 

“Oh, come ON!” Wally exploded. “That much crap can’t be happening in one night!”

“Well it is!” Dick snapped back. “So we’re just going to have to suck it up and deal!”

“We?! Dude, we can’t take on Batman alone! Why don’t we call in the team?”

“Because none of them are trained to deal with Batman on a good day, never mind a Batman ready to kill people! Besides, I’m not bringing Superboy to Gotham while some mad scientist is running around infecting people with rage. Could you imagine if _he_ got infected?!”

Wally shuddered at the thought. “But what about Aqualad and Miss Martian? Between all of us we could–” 

“They’re. Not. _Trained!_ Wally, Batman may not have superpowers, but he’s still one of the powerhouses of the League. He’s had years of practice at taking down multiple targets who are bigger and stronger than he is – he’s sparred with Superman for crying out loud! You really think a few teenagers can stop him when his brain is telling him to kill?”

Wally crossed his arms and looked away.

Dick softened his tone. “I’m not going to put the team’s lives in danger by bringing them here. Face it, Wally, it’s gonna take a Leaguer – several actually – to bring Batman in.”

“What about if we hit him with a tranquilizer to knock him out?”

“NO!” cried Dick at once. “Wally, we don’t know anything about this virus or how it reacts to other drugs. All we know for sure is that the virus kills after twenty-four hours and I am not drugging Batman in case it accelerates that!”

“So we’re just going to do nothing?” Wally cocked an eyebrow. That didn’t sound like Robin.

“I said it would take a Leaguer to bring him in. I didn’t say we would do nothing.”

Wally exhaled in frustration. Robin and his cryptic responses. Sometimes his best friend was a little too like his mentor. “Then what’s your plan?”

“We find the cure,” Dick answered determinedly. “Once we have that, we can go after Batman and give it to him. Then we won’t need to worry about bringing him in.”

Wally unfolded his arms and started to gesticulate. “Not to be a buzz-kill or anything, but how exactly are we going to do that? We have nothing to go on!”

“There’s always something,” Dick replied. “One of the first things Batman taught me was that everything is a clue. Alfred, is there any chance you have a computer somewhere in that bag of tricks?”

The butler was already moving to the door. “I may have something you can use.” Retrieving one of the cases, he returned to the bed and placed the bag on it. Opening it, he pulled out a spare Robin uniform – complete with utility belt and gauntlets.

“Alfred, you legend!” exclaimed Dick gleefully, jumping out of the chair and shooting over to the bed.

“Not so fast, young sir!” Alfred stopped his hand mid-grab. “Before you go dashing out into the night, I would like to know what you plan on doing about your ribs?”

Dick looked up at him guiltily. “Um…I was hoping you’d tape them up for me until this is all over?”

The butler’s lips thinned with disapproval. “Wrapping your ribs can lead to complications, Master Dick, especially when we have no idea how extensive the damage is.”

“But they hardly hurt at all!” Dick protested. At a look from Alfred and a sceptical cough from Wally, he relented. “Okay, fine. Maybe they hurt a little. But I can’t defend myself like this if Batman finds us, and since it could be a few hours before we get help from the League, I need to be able to defend myself!”

He sounded slightly on edge and Wally cringed. He had a feeling being chased down by his own mentor had really rattled Dick. But what he said also made sense; it sounded like Batman was tracking Robin, so he needed to be able to defend himself if Batman found them again. Wally gulped. He just hoped that wouldn’t happen. 

Alfred sighed in resignation. “Very well, Master Dick.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Wally,” Dick’s voice was quiet as he shifted his attention to his friend, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to help. I know chasing down a mindless, rage-filled Batman is a big ask.”

Wally was a little insulted. “Tch! You think I’m gonna leave my best pal alone on this? Dude, get a grip!”

Dick beamed at him.

“Besides,” Wally continued, “how often are we gonna get the chance to say we fought a real live zombie?”

Dick rolled his eyes at that.

But when Dick settled back into the chair so Alfred could tape up his ribs, Wally had to force himself to swallow his panic. This had to be the dumbest thing he and Dick had ever done in a long line of dumb stuff.

Studying his best friend, Wally knew he couldn’t- _wouldn’t_ let him down. He sighed. 

Zombie Batman. Awesome.

oOo

“Dude, you sure this is the place?” Wally whispered nervously while Robin picked the lock on the back door of a suburban two-story house.

“Shhhhh!” came the response.

Wally sighed. He’d forgotten how much he hated Bat stakeouts. No food, no talking, no moving, no noise, no _anything!_ It drove Wally crazy.

A click sounded and Robin straightened up, putting a finger to his lips before carefully pushing the door open.

Wally rolled his eyes. Be quiet. He got it. 

Following the younger boy into a darkened kitchen, Wally’s stomach twisted in apprehension. There could be anything here if this guy was the one who had created the rage virus!

It had been Robin who decided that the best way to find the cure for this virus was to locate the man from the slaughterhouse. Armed with a fresh uniform, Robin had used his holographic computer to search for college professors whose current research focused on rage and aggression. 

Wally had wondered why he’d limited the search to university professors; why not expand it to include laboratory scientists? But Robin had explained that one of the men at the slaughterhouse had referred to the scientist guy as ‘professor’ instead of ‘doctor’, leading him to theorize that their mad scientist was actually a university professor.

The search had turned up two names: Alexander Duchov and Justin Crenshaw. Robin had decided to investigate Crenshaw first because the man was from England – Oxford to be precise – and the man from the slaughterhouse had been English. 

Which lead them to where they were now…at Crenshaw’s house doing something Wally had never thought he would ever do in a civilian home: breaking and entering.

The small kitchen was empty save for a table piled high with papers, and they moved towards the hall where a vile stench reached Wally’s nose. He gagged in disgust. “Dude, what is that _smell?_ ”

Robin whipped around and slapped a hand across Wally’s mouth. In the moonlit kitchen, Wally could just make out the younger boy glaring at him. He shrugged. What?

Robin dropped his hand with an irritated little huff and gestured for Wally to follow him.

Wally grimaced. They were going nearer to this smell? Seriously? 

With great reluctance and one hand over his nose, he followed Robin into a small corridor. Piles of books lined the hallway and they had to pick their way carefully over them. The smell got worse once they arrived outside the next room, and even Robin had to place one gauntleted hand over his nose. The door was closed so Robin cautiously turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

An overwhelming smell of something foul and rotten hit them hard. Wally reeled back, fighting down bile in his throat. It was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Beside him, he could hear Robin retch.

Gagging, Wally stumbled back towards the kitchen, both hands clamped tightly over his nose. It did nothing to block out the smell. 

“Close the door!” he choked. “It smells like something died in there!”

Robin didn’t answer. But Wally could still hear him coughing and gagging harshly…and then suddenly the coughing became more muffled. He looked up and saw Robin, cape held tightly over his nose and mouth, enter the room.

“Rob, are you insane?” he yelled from the kitchen doorway. “DUDE!” 

There was no answer.

Grumbling furiously, Wally moved towards the room. It was an effort not to throw up and he wondered if he would ever get this smell out of his nostrils. Steeling himself, he entered the room and was surprised to find Robin standing, frozen, just inside the door. Wally peered over the smaller boy’s shoulder and immediately felt like he’d been socked in the gut.

There was a dead body on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

For several seconds, neither of them moved. They both just stood there, staring at the body.

And then Wally’s senses kicked in, reminding him of the vile stench that was threatening to make him lose the quick snack he had eaten before they left the hotel. Gagging, he seized Robin and raced back through the kitchen and out of the house.

“KF! What the hell?!” Robin yelled, squirming and forcing Wally to put him down in the back yard.

“Rob, did you not _smell_ that?! That body has been there for a while; he’s not your guy.”

“No, but don’t you think that his turning up dead is a little too suspicious for it not to be connected?”

Robin had a point. But Wally really didn’t want to go back into the house. “Can’t we just call the police and let them handle the body?” he pleaded. “It’s not like the guy can tell you anything.”

“But there may be something in there that can lead us to the guy we’re looking for,” Robin argued. “You don’t have to go back in if you’re not up to it…”

“Of course I’m up to it! Who says I’m not up to it?!” Wally demanded at once.

Robin’s knowing smirk irked him.

“Whatever,” Wally muttered. “Let’s just do this.”

Still grinning, Robin trotted back to the house and re-entered the kitchen. Wally followed him, a pout tugging at his lips. He hated that Robin always knew exactly which button to push.

The smell was even worse the second time, forcing both of them to clamp their hands over their noses. “We won’t find anything like this,” Robin told him. “Hang on.”

Pulling something out of his utility belt, Robin moved over to the sink and ran the faucet. After a few seconds he turned back to Wally and handed him a damp handkerchief. “Tie this over your mouth and nose,” he instructed. “It won’t block out the smell but it might make it bearable enough to do a quick search.”

Wally quickly did as Robin suggested, grinning behind his makeshift mask as Robin did the same. “Dude, we look like wild west cowboys!”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you can get past the spandex.”

“Okay. So we’re futuristic cowboys,” Wally retorted, not to be deterred. “And hey, why do you even have these in your belt anyway? They’re not exactly lethal.”

“Nothing in my belt is lethal,” Robin informed him. “Just useful.”

Wally waved a hand. “Details. Why does Batman make you carry hankies?”

“He doesn’t. Alfred does. Now, come on.”

Robin moved back into the hall and Wally followed him, albeit reluctantly. The wet handkerchief provided only a mild relief from the smell, and Wally still had to cover his nose as he followed Robin up the stairs. He would never admit it, but he was relieved Robin had chosen not to re-enter the room with the dead body; Wally kind of didn’t want to see it again.

“Don’t turn on any lights,” Robin warned, as they entered the first room at the top of the stairs. 

In the moonlight, Wally saw him remove something from his utility belt before a small beam of light hit him in the face. “Dude!” he complained, throwing up his hands.

A little giggle sounded. “Sorry,” said Robin, sounding decidedly not sorry at all. He cast the light around the room. The flashlight revealed it to be a large study filled with books and papers. There was a small laboratory workstation in the corner. 

“Well, if we’re going to find anything, it’s bound to be in here,” Wally commented. 

“Agreed. You want to take the workstation?”

“Sure.”

Wally moved over to the corner and snapped on his goggles. Switching them to night vision mode, he began to investigate the workstation. Behind him, he could hear papers rustling as Robin searched the room.

They worked in silence for several minutes until eventually Robin spoke. “KF, I think I’ve got something.”

“You do?” Wally zipped over to him. “What is it?”

“Research on aggression,” said Robin, shining his flashlight over some papers in his hand. “They’ve been experimenting on mice using an artificially produced pheromone called 11-cis Vaccenyl Acetate.”

“That sounds really familiar.” Wally peered over Robin’s shoulder at the papers. “Hang on! I remember reading about an experiment on fruit flies using that exact pheromone! It made the flies really violent and aggressive. But…” Wally was confused. “That was flies, and this research is about mice. How could the same pheromone affect humans?”

“Don’t know, but they’ve obviously adapted it somehow. I just don’t see how they went from mice to humans without any research.”

Something Robin said caught Wally’s attention. “What do you mean ‘they’?”

Robin swung his flashlight from the desk they were standing beside, over to another one by the wall. “Two desks, KF. One is as neat as a pin and the other looks like it belongs to you.”

“Ha, funny. So you’re saying two desks means two people?”

Robin nodded. 

“Then why is the guy downstairs dead? Why kill your partner?”

Robin shrugged, his eyes glued to the paper in his hands. 

A thought struck Wally. “Rob, who is the second guy?”

“Um…” Robin consulted the papers in his hands, “his name is Andrew Jenkins.”

“So Andrew Jenkins is the guy we’re looking for?”

“Not necessarily. That depends on who the dead guy is downstairs.” 

Wally groaned. “DUDE! _Tell_ me we don’t have to get up close and personal with the dead guy to find out who he is!”

“We don’t.” Robin put the papers back on the desk and activated his holographic computer. “I couldn’t get any pictures of Justin Crenshaw online, but maybe I can find some of Andrew Jenkins– there!”

Wally peered at the picture Robin had just pulled up of a mild-looking man with neatly brushed hair and owlish glasses. “He doesn’t look like much of a mad scientist.”

Robin didn’t answer. He was staring at the image.

“Rob?”

“It’s him.”

“What?”

“Andrew Jenkins. He’s the guy from the slaughterhouse. He’s the one who infected Batman.” There was an edge to Robin’s voice as he scanned the information in front of him. “He’s a research professor at Harvard University and he’s considered one of the foremost authorities on violence and aggression in the world.”

“Why would a guy that respected go around infecting people with rage? And what’s he doing in Gotham?”

“He and Crenshaw have collaborated together several times. He must be spending the summer in Gotham so they can work on their latest project.”

“A rage virus for humans.” Wally sighed. “Haven’t these guys ever watched 28 Days Later? Rage turned all of Britain into zombies!” He paused, a thought occurring to him. “How come Batman didn’t infect you?”

Robin gave him a withering look. 

“What? It’s a valid question!”

Robin shook his head before glancing back at the papers on Jenkins’ desk. “There was nothing in that research about experiments on humans…or an antidote.”

“So we need to find this Jenkins guy?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Robin returned his attention to his holographic computer and typed quickly before frowning. “There’s no record of Andrew Jenkins staying anywhere in Gotham City.”

“Maybe he crashed with Crenshaw?”

“I doubt it. This house makes _you_ look tidy, but this desk that Jenkins was working at is obsessively neat. I don’t think he could have lived like this.”

“Maybe that’s what resulted in the dead body downstairs.” He couldn’t see Robin’s eyes because of the mask, but Wally immediately recognized the eye-rolling motion. “Okay then, Einstein, where do you think he stayed?”

“Not sure.” Robin chewed on his lip. “Judging by the research here, I don’t think Crenshaw was in on the whole human rage virus thing; Jenkins must have done that part of his work elsewhere – meaning he would need to have a private lab located somewhere in Gotham.” His fingers moved over the holographic keyboard once more. “Bingo! He signed a lease on some office space downtown!”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Wally demanded. “Let’s go!”

oOo

“See anyone?” Wally asked.

He and Robin were perched on the roof of a warehouse across from the street from the office block where Andrew Jenkins had leased space. Robin was studying the building through a small pair of binoculars. “Place looks empty,” he replied.

“So are we going in?”

Robin didn’t answer.

“Rob?”

Robin turned to look at him. “Maybe only one of us should go. Just in case.”

“In case of what? This Jenkins guy and his rage virus? Screw that!” Wally crossed his arms. “I need you to do your stealthy-ninja-hacker thing, and you need me in case there’s anyone inside. No offense, bro, but you’re off your game tonight.”

Robin gave him his best bat-glare but Wally didn’t budge. “Don’t give me that look. You think I haven’t seen you rubbing at your ribs for the last half hour? Face it, dude, you couldn’t take on Bambi right now.”

“Alright, fine! But, KF, if this guy shows up and he has the virus with him, you run away as fast as you can, even if you have to leave me behind.”

“No way! I won’t–”

“KF, this thing runs off pheromones; he won’t infect anyone if it’s just me and him in the room. But he will infect you to get us out of the way and…I can’t fight both you and Batman, Walls.”

Robin’s voice was quiet and Wally stared at him. It was a little terrifying to think about being so filled with rage that he was basically a zombie. And it was even worse to think that he might hurt his best friend because of it. He sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll run. But _only_ if I have to.”

“Then let’s go check out the mad scientist’s lair!” Robin joked, but his laughter sounded forced.

Sick apprehension settling in his stomach, Wally seized Robin, sped down to the pavement below, and then raced around to the back of the building that housed the offices Andrew Jenkins had leased. It suddenly occurred to him that this was the only way they had travelled since leaving the Bluebird Hotel and his gut clenched when he realized it was a mark of how bad Robin was really feeling if he was willing to travel by speedster instead of using his grapple gun. 

At the back door, Wally put Robin down and kept watch while the younger boy hacked the alarm system. It took less than a minute before Wally heard the telltale _buzz_ that told him the alarm had been deactivated.

They entered the building and found it in complete darkness. Wally immediately put his goggles on and switched them to night vision mode; they were coming in seriously handy tonight. The speedster had to hand it to Batman – his gadgets were the coolest. “Where to?” he whispered.

“Third floor,” Robin replied, consulting his holographic computer. “But let’s take the stairs. This building might have a night watchman and I don’t want to alert him by using the elevator.”

Pulling out his flashlight, Robin began to climb the stairs. Wally followed him, hoping this lead wouldn’t turn out to be a total bust because he had no idea what they were going to do if it was.

Reaching the third floor, Robin beckoned Wally to keep following him and the speedster complied. He had no doubt that Robin knew exactly where he was going. Sure enough, at the end of the corridor, Robin stopped outside a door marked ‘Private’ and started to pick the lock. It took several minutes, and Robin still needed to disable an alarm, but even that level of security didn’t prepare Wally for the sight that greeted him when they finally entered the room: a fully stocked research laboratory. 

The room was a long, rectangular shape with one closed door to their right, and two more doors at the far end of the lab on their left. Long counters ran the length of each wall and there were two free-standing units in the middle. Among the impressive looking equipment, Wally recognized three very high-end microscopes, a bioanalyzer, an incubator, a centrifuge that wouldn’t have looked out of place on CSI, and a gas chromatograph. He’d never even seen some of the other equipment. 

Wally blinked. This place made his Uncle Barry’s place of work look like a high school science lab!

“KF, check those two rooms at the far end,” Robin told him in a very low whisper, before heading for the door closest to them.

Wally quickly complied, speeding down to the far end of the lab and opening the first door where he found a small, sparse bedroom with an adjoining en-suite.

_Guess this explains where the dude was sleeping._

The next door revealed a small storage room filled with chemicals. Wally backed out of there pretty quickly; the smell reminded him too much of school!

At the other end of the lab, the door of the room Robin was investigating was wide open. A light was on in the room beyond, but there was no sound from the other boy. Anxious, Wally hurried back there and almost collided with Robin who was standing just inside the door. With a horrible feeling of déjà vu, Wally switched off the night vision in his goggles and looked over Robin’s shoulder. This time it wasn’t a dead body that held Robin’s attention, but Wally almost wished it had been.

There was a cage in the centre of the room. On the floor of the cage lay a chimpanzee, barely breathing. Its fur was matted and its eyes were half-closed. The noises emanating from it indicated that the animal was in pain: it was obvious the chimp was dying. Wally swallowed and pity gnawed on his insides. This Jenkins guy must have been using primates as test subjects before moving onto humans. He was obviously a very sick, twisted individual. He snapped out of his immobile staring when Robin moved slowly towards the cage and dropped to his knees. To Wally’s horror, Robin reached out to touch the chimpanzee’s hand where it lay near the bars of the cage.

“NO!” Wally yelled, zooming over and snatching Robin’s hand back just as the chimp threw itself at the bars of the cage, screaming and frothing at the mouth. “Dude, it’s been infected! What were you thinking?!” he demanded, helping Robin to his feet.

“I wasn’t,” Robin admitted quietly, his eyes still on the raging chimp. There was something in his expression that Wally hadn’t seen before, something he didn’t recognize.

“Rob, you okay?”

The other boy blinked and then looked at Wally. “Not really. But this isn’t exactly the time for a Dr. Phil moment. C’mon, let’s check this guy’s lab for an antidote.”

Turning, Robin left the room. Wally gave a last glance at the chimp rattling the bars of its cage while it choked on its own spittle, before reluctantly following after Robin and closing the door. He felt despicable for just leaving the dying animal in its cage, but what else could they do? The rage virus made it dangerous, and they didn’t know enough about the virus to help the monkey. Their only option was to find something in the mad scientist’s lab.

Wally shivered a little. He had always viewed the mad scientist cliché as something to be laughed at, but there was something so cold, so sick and deranged about all of this, that he knew he would never laugh at the concept again.

Suddenly, light flooded his vision and he blinked, squinting around in alarm. Much to his relief, it was just Robin. The other boy had turned on the lights in the laboratory and was now locking the door again. 

“What are you doing?” Wally asked.

“There’s no one here and we’ll search faster with light,” Robin replied. “Relax, KF, this guy uses blackout blinds. We won’t be seen from outside.”

Wally glanced towards the two windows that Robin indicated; both were covered with heavy-duty blackout blinds. “Huh. This guy didn’t spare any expense, did he?”

“No. Which makes you wonder where he got the money.”

“You think there’s a third person involved?”

“Don’t know.” Robin frowned. “But all of this equipment and the hired help at the slaughterhouse? Someone’s funding him. The question is, who?”

“I have a better question,” said Wally, moving over beside him. “Why?”

“Answer must be in here somewhere,” Robin replied, looking around. “You want to check out the science stuff? You’re much better at it than me.”

Wally was surprised. “You think I’m better than you at something? Seriously?”

“Duh, ‘course.” Robin looked at him like he was crazy. “Dude, you’re the science prodigy, not me.”

“But then why–” Wally stopped speaking and reddened furiously.

It was too late. Robin’s eyes narrowed and his attention zeroed in on Wally. “Why what? KF, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Robin crossed his arms. “Yeah, right. You’ve been acting weird ever since I called you for help tonight. What gives?”

“Nothing!” Wally muttered, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if something is bothering you. C’mon, KF, spill.”

Wally put a hand to the back of his neck, unable to look at Robin. “Thought you said we didn’t have time for a Dr. Phil moment.”

“We do when it keeps coming up like this. Besides,” Robin’s voice grew soft, “I’d kinda like to know what I’ve done to upset you, Walls. I didn’t mean it, whatever it was.”

Wally winced. He hated it when Robin used that small, soft voice. It made him sound like a little kid and it usually meant he felt bad about something. And Wally didn’t want him feeling bad about something stupid when he already had enough on his plate tonight. “Seriously, dude, it doesn’t matter.”

Robin touched his arm. “It matters to me.”

Wally fidgeted, knowing Robin wasn’t going to let this go. “This is gonna sound really lame…” He reddened again. “It was…some of the stuff you said on Santa Prisca hurt my feelings…a bit.”

There. It was out now. Wally glanced at Robin, who was watching him, a confused expression on his face. “What stuff? What do you mean?”

“You know…” Wally gestured awkwardly. “You kind of called me stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid.”

“It wasn’t what you said. It was more the way you said it.” Wally cringed. God, he sounded like such a _girl._

Robin stared at him.

“I’m not crazy, Rob! When I agreed with Aqualad about identifying the buyer, you laughed at me and made that sarcastic little dig about me being the ‘thinker’.” Wally used air quotations to emphasize his point. “I already have enough people thinking I’m dumb, I don’t need my best pal thinking it too!”

“Wally, no one thinks you’re dumb. _I_ don’t think you’re dumb!”

“Then why’d you make that crack?”

Robin wrapped his arms around himself and looked away. “I didn’t mean it, KF. I’m sorry.”

Wally could practically see the wall going up. He knew Robin better than anyone except Batman, and right now his friend was putting distance between them, hiding something. 

Wally frowned. Robin was open about pretty much everything except his secret ID – which Wally knew anyway – and the only time he put up a wall was when there was a danger of him appearing vulnerable. It was a trait he’d learned from Batman, and one which Wally really wasn’t all that fond of. “If you didn’t mean it, then why’d you say it?”

“Because I was being a jerk. You’re not dumb, KF, and no one thinks you are.”

“Some of the League do.”

“No, they don’t! Where would you get an idea like that?”

Wally shrugged. “The way they look at me sometimes, or how they talk to me…you know, like I’m a total idiot.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “That’s because you _act_ like a total idiot sometimes. It doesn’t mean they think you’re dumb.”

“Doesn’t mean they respect me either,” Wally countered. “Not like you. You don’t have any powers and they still take you seriously. If I didn’t have my powers I’d be just another kid to them.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Robin exploded. “You mean you’ve been freaking out over some hypothetical situation? _That’s_ what this is about? KF, you _have_ powers! You’re an actual superhero!

Robin was annoyed now and Wally couldn’t help but get a little defensive. “I can’t help my insecurities – we’re not all _you-metas-have-got-nothing-on-me_ Bats, you know!”

Robin looked like he’d been slapped. “You think I look down on you because I don’t have powers?”

“No! Well, not exactly...” Wally paused. Did he think that? Then he shook his head. No. He knew Robin would never look down on him. “Dude, you don’t get it – everyone respects you. Even though you don’t have powers, the whole League takes you seriously. I have powers but I still get treated like a joke sometimes.”

“At least you have powers!” Robin snapped. “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone!”

Wally was taken aback. That almost sounded like Robin envied him… But he couldn’t. Robin was Batman’s protégé, the first side-kick, the one everyone respected. Robin couldn’t be jealous of Wally…right?

Robin wasn’t looking at him now. The wall was back up, hiding anything that might make him vulnerable. But instead of letting it annoy him this time, Wally focused on it. The wall went up as soon as Robin had mentioned not having powers, and a few minutes before, it had gone up when Wally had wanted to know why Robin had lashed out at him on Santa Prisca.

Wally thought back to the fight they’d had in the middle of the mission about who should lead. It was frustrating for Wally that Robin had automatically been considered for leadership even though he was only thirteen, while Wally, who was older and had actual powers, hadn’t even been in the running. The situation had fed his insecurities, blowing them out of proportion, and Wally had spent the last few days focusing on the things that Robin had said to him during their argument. But he hadn’t really given any thought to the things _he’d_ said to Robin until now.

 _You don’t even have superpowers…Duh, you’re NOT Batman!_ echoed in his head and Wally cringed. He could no longer accuse Robin of being the only instigator in their fight. Nor could he say that he was the only one who’d been hurt by it.

Wally had assumed that, Robin being Robin, he had just shrugged the whole thing off. He hadn’t realized that Robin had been bothered by some of the things that he had said as well. However, thinking about it now, it couldn’t exactly be easy for Robin being the only one on the team without powers, _and_ the youngest and smallest to boot. No wonder he had pushed so hard on the leadership thing; Robin wanted to prove himself every bit as much as Wally did. But without powers, Robin had to use other ways to prove he belonged on the team.

For as long as Wally had known him, Robin had always been slightly cocky, leading Wally to assume he didn’t have any insecurities. But he could now see that Robin did have insecurities – he was just better at hiding them. 

The sudden epiphany placed Robin in a whole new light and Wally stared at his younger friend. He understood now why Robin had gotten so defensive and lashed out on Santa Prisca, and why he was so annoyed at Wally for freaking out about whether or not the League respected him. But he didn’t understand why 

Robin had to keep putting up that stupid wall; what was so bad about admitting to your best friend that you had insecurities as well?

“Why didn’t you tell me I upset you?” he asked quietly.

Robin’s head jerked up sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“Me wanting to know why you should be leader when you don’t have superpowers. It was a pretty douche-bag thing for me to say.”

Robin stared at him but didn’t answer.

Wally sighed. “I’m sorry, Rob. Guess we both acted like buttheads.”

Robin relaxed his arms from where they had been folded tight against his torso and gave Wally a small smile. “That’s okay. And I’m sorry about what I said. You know I don’t think you’re dumb, no one does. You’re a science genius; you recreated Flash’s lab experiment when you were just a kid and voila, superpowers! Plus, on Santa Prisca, you were able to identify the blockbuster and venom chemical formulas just by _looking_ at them. No way can anyone accuse you of being dumb. I’m really sorry I was such a jerk.”

He couldn’t see Robin’s eyes because of the mask, but Wally could just tell they were wide and earnest. The younger boy clearly meant every word he said, and Wally should have known better than to think Robin didn’t respect him, or that he thought he was dumb. After all, Wally was still the only friend Robin trusted enough to let into both sides of his life, the only friend who knew him as both Dick Grayson _and_ Robin. Wally had just let his insecurities get the better of him, making a mountain out of a molehill. 

“It’s cool, Rob. Sorry I was such a jerk to you too. I was just jealous because everyone thinks so highly of you. But, you do know they’re right, right?”

Robin raised a sceptical eyebrow and Wally rushed to convince him. “Think about it, man; you don’t even need powers to kick butt. Look at everything you did tonight! Dude, that’s pretty bad-ass.”

Robin gave him the first genuine smile that Wally had seen on his face all night.

Wally smiled back. “So, we through with the chick-flick moment?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Want to end it on a slightly manlier note?” Robin held out his fist for Wally to bump.

Wally returned the gesture with a grin. He didn’t even want to think about how many walls he was going to have to pee against to reassert his masculinity after this conversation, but for now, things were A-ok between him and his best friend once more. “You want to hack the system while I look at his files?” he suggested, jerking his head towards one of the computers.

Robin’s eyes narrowed. “Do I ever!”

Moving over to the computer, Robin turned it on and Wally could hear him tapping at the keyboard as he hacked into the system. Meanwhile, he busied himself by rooting through the files that Jenkins had stacked neatly on a shelf in one corner of the room.

They worked in silence for quite some time. Wally was just starting to get an idea of what Jenkins had done to create his rage virus when he discovered some very disturbing information. Swallowing hard, he turned to inform Robin of his find when a rattle at the door caught his attention. He glanced at Robin, who was standing with a frozen expression on his face, his eyes glued to the door.

Wally swallowed, his eyes sliding back to the door. He knew exactly what Robin was afraid of because the same cold fear was crawling over him. Was this Andrew Jenkins coming back? Or had Batman finally found them?


	6. Chapter 6

A look of understanding crossed between Robin and Wally, and they hurried over to the door, where Robin snapped off the light. His heart was pounding hard against his ribcage as they stationed themselves at either side of the door. _Please don’t be Batman! PLEASE don’t be Batman!_ looped frantically through his head.

The door opened and a tall shadow entered. Quickly, both boys jumped at the figure, knocking it to the ground, where it gave a muffled cry of surprise. Robin almost went limp with relief; it wasn’t Batman. 

Removing a pair of zip-ties from his utility belt, he wrestled the squirming figure’s hands behind its back and cuffed them, before straightening up to let Wally haul the figure to its feet, while he closed the door and turned the light back on. 

Andrew Jenkins blinked owlishly in the sudden light, his glasses askew. Spotting Robin, his mouth opened and he gawped at the boy while Wally manhandled him into a chair. “How are you still _alive?_ ” he gasped. “Batman should have killed you!”

“Shut up!” snapped Wally, poking his shoulder. “We ask the questions, not you.”

“I don’t take orders from children,” the man sneered. “And if you don’t untie me, I’ll scream.”

“No, you won’t,” said Robin, coming forward to stand in front of him. “You don’t want your little lab here to be discovered or you would have yelled for help the second we jumped you.”

Jenkins glared at him. “What do you want?”

“The antidote.”

“What makes you think there’s an antidote?”

Robin clenched a fist. “Don’t give me that! No way would you be stupid enough to create a virus and not develop some sort of antidote.”

“Um, actually, Rob,” Wally interrupted, looking extremely unhappy, “I’m not sure if there is one.”

Robin felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “What! How can there not be an antidote?!”

Jenkins gave a nasty smile. “What’s the matter, little bird? Afraid Daddy’s going to kill you?”

“You shut up!” Wally snarled, smacking him across the head. Jenkins scowled at him.

Robin’s head was spinning. There was no cure? He couldn’t help Batman? His mentor was just going to _die?_

Something painful unfurled in his chest and Robin couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening – he couldn’t lose another parent, he just couldn’t!

“Rob?” Wally was beside him now, one hand on his arm. Concern resonated in the older boy’s voice. Robin swallowed and just looked at Wally, unable to speak. “Don’t worry,” said Wally comfortingly, “the League should be here soon, and Flash will be able to synthesize a cure using this guy’s research.”

Jenkins laughed. “Flash won’t have time to synthesize a cure! The virus starts to burn out the brain’s synapses six hours after the host has been infected. 

Batman has maybe two hours at most before permanent brain damage is inevitable.” 

“LIAR!” Robin shouted, stepping forward. Wally’s hand on his arm tightened. “The other victims survived for at least twenty-four hours after they were infected!”

“The virus kills somewhere between twenty-four and thirty-six hours,” Jenkins corrected him. “That doesn’t mean damage won’t occur before then.”

Robin stared at him in mute horror. His stomach churned sickeningly. 

“Hey!” Wally interjected suddenly. “If there’s no cure, how could he know exactly when the damage happens?”

Robin jerked his head around to stare at his friend. Wally was right. The virus blunted all rational thought, reducing its victims to mindless animals, which made it impossible to tell when brain damage occurred…unless Jenkins had administered a cure at different stages to determine long-term effects of the virus.

“Finish checking his research,” Robin ordered. “There must be something!”

Jenkins laughed. “Good luck! My research is highly advanced science; a teenager couldn’t possibly hope to comprehend it.”

“Pffft!” Wally scoffed, heading for the files once more. “Dude, don’t kid yourself; it’s not _that_ complicated. You created a virus using an artificially produced pheromone that triggers violence and aggression in fruit flies, and modified it to affect humans. It increases areandrostenone, vasopressin and testosterone, and it shuts down all but the most basic of thought processes in the brain.” Wally raised an eyebrow at Jenkins. “How am I doing so far?” 

The man’s mouth was open and his eyes were wide in a furious glare.

“There’s a little more to it of course,” Wally continued in an offhand manner as he picked up a file, “but that’s about the bones of it. No big.” 

Jenkins looked enraged and Robin couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, did we forget to mention? Kid Flash is a science prodigy.”

While Wally continued to read through Jenkins’ research, Robin fixed the man with a deadly glare. “Why did you create this virus?”

The man’s expression was petulant. “I’m a scientist, why wouldn’t I create it?”

“Most scientists usually have a more definite purpose than random acts of violence,” Robin pointed out. “What you’re doing hurts people. How is that science?”  
Jenkins gave a contemptuous laugh. “What would you know about science? Your friend over there might be a science prodigy, but a child like you doesn’t have the intellect to understand real science.”

Robin bristled, but bit back a smart retort. _Play up the little kid card_ , his instincts told him. If he could keep Jenkins thinking that he was just a regular kid, he might be able to trick him into revealing something about the mechanics of the virus, or why he’d created it. “I know plenty about science!”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” said Jenkins in amusement.

Robin longed to leverage a fist into that condescending sneer. “What are you trying to learn from this virus? How to make people angry? It doesn’t take a virus to do that.”

“No, it doesn’t,” the man agreed. “And do you know why that is? Because beneath the veneer of civilization, we’re all little more than animals, forced into good behaviour by the morals of society – society can’t sustain itself if we’re all at each other’s throats.”

“Wouldn’t that mean people aren’t violent if they want society to work?” Robin asked. He had a feeling he knew where Jenkins was going with this – Batman had made him study theories on sociological violence as part of his training – but playing the innocent child would serve him better.

“Society needs to work if we’re to survive, that’s why people protect it – not because they _believe_ in it. So we find outlets for our aggression. We structure violence, make it acceptable. Look at contact sports like boxing; fighting goes from an act of violence to a sanctioned outlet for aggression. Spectators don’t feel horror at the bloodshed, they feel _excitement._ They bay for blood because there’s something visceral about watching two men beat each other senseless. And there’s something even more base and gratifying to be found in the sensation of knuckle impacting bone.” Jenkins settled back in his chair and fixed Robin with a satisfied smirk. “Just look at the fight clubs that have been thriving in Gotham for the last few weeks.”

Robin refrained from rolling his eyes. This guy sure loved the sound of his own voice. “What do you know about the fight clubs?”

“That they were a convenient distraction from the results of my work.”

Robin narrowed his eyes. “You were behind the fight clubs?!”

“Not in the strictest sense. A bunch of idiots beating each other to a bloody pulp for the purpose of entertainment? I studied that topic a long time ago and have no interest in doing so again. But a few words in the right ears was all it took to kickstart the fight clubs in Gotham.” Jenkins shrugged. “Most people are ridiculously easy to manipulate.”

 _I’ll bet._ Robin shook his head. _Let’s hit that ego of yours and see if you react._ “You get your kicks watching people tear each other apart – you’re not a scientist, you’re a psychopath!”

The man’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “You think I would allow myself to be driven by such base instinct? Please! Humans batter each other senseless on a daily basis, and I have studied it to the point that it no longer interests me. I find it much more interesting to study people who destroy those they care about, because that is something we still don’t have an acceptable explanation for – how is it possible to override the instinct to protect until it becomes an instinct to destroy? How do you make someone butcher a loved one? That is where the real mystery lies.”

“So that’s why you picked Brandon and Mark Sanders!” Robin exclaimed. “You wanted to see if your virus could force people to kill someone they love!” He fixed Jenkins with a calculating look. “But you didn’t create this virus to understand why people would hurt someone they care about – your virus overrides humanity, until there’s nothing left but rage. And that doesn’t explain why ordinary people would suddenly kill someone close to them…which means there’s more to this than just science.”

The man started, blinked and then stared hard at Robin as though really seeing him. Robin could see the angry, frustrated realization dawn on his face that he’d been played. “Well, well, we are a clever little bird, aren’t we?”

Robin ignored him. His mind was racing as he pieced things together. “You needed to make sure your virus wouldn’t be restricted by feelings of affection, that’s why you tested it on two brothers.” He folded his arms. “Now, why would you need a virus like that?”

The man remained silent and Robin studied him. “No, not you. Someone else. All of this equipment…someone’s been funding you, someone else wants this virus.” Jenkins looked away, a murderous expression on his face and Robin knew he was on the right track. “Who are you working for?”

Jenkins threw him a dirty look. “I’m not talking anymore.”

Robin shrugged. “Your choice.” 

He knew he would get nothing further out of Jenkins; the man was too clever to allow himself to be tricked a second time. Besides, now that they’d captured him, he was no longer the problem. The problem was finding whoever was funding his research. Robin wracked his brain; who could possibly want a virus like this? This wasn’t about some sadist getting a thrill out of watching people hurt others; there were easier ways to indulge such perversion, not to mention that there was too much funding behind this lab for it not to be about something bigger. And it couldn’t be for murder because anyone with this much money could just hire an assassin…fewer complications and less of a trail. No, this virus had a specific purpose. But what?

Wally joined them, carrying a file. “Rob, I have something.”

Robin felt hope flare. “You found an antidote?”

“Not exactly.” He handed Robin the file. “It’s a way to reverse the effects of the virus using some weird chemical mix, but it’s complicated and it takes time to kick in.”

“But will it work?” Robin queried, flipping open the folder and scanning the chemical formulas. They looked like double Dutch to him.

“It’ll work.”

Something in Wally’s tone made Robin look up. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”

Wally sighed. “The chemicals come in two different compounds that have to be given in two separate doses an hour apart…and it has to be intravenous.”

Robin stared at Wally, his heart sinking. That meant they were going to have to get close to Batman. Twice. “Why does it take two shots?”

“From what I can see, each one has a different function. The first shot halts the progression of the virus and changes its genetic content so that it’ll react with the second shot to reverse the effects of the virus. That’s why you need to wait an hour between them – to give the first time to modify the genetic code. It’s all about altering the chemical makeup of the virus; one won’t work without the other.”

“Great.” Unconsciously, Robin rubbed at his torso. The pain relief Alfred had given him was starting to wear off and, even taped up, his ribs ached horribly. This was going to be hell. “How long will it take to mix both formulas?”

“A while. But we may not have to worry about that because I bet Mr. Organized,” Wally jerked a thumb at Jenkins, “already has a stash.” Zipping over to a large glass refrigerator, Wally scanned the vials inside and then crowed triumphantly. “Knew it! This dude is totally predictable.” Opening the door, he retrieved two glass vials; one with a clear liquid and the other a pale yellow.

“Get two of each,” Robin suggested. “Just in case.”

“Good idea,” said Wally and quickly complied. Zooming back to Robin, he handed him the vials which Robin tucked away safely in his utility belt. “So, how do we find Batman?” Wally asked.

“Find him?” Jenkins interrupted with a vicious bark of laughter. “You won’t find him, he’ll find you!”

Both boys turned towards him and he gave Wally a cold smile. “Looks like the little prodigy didn’t completely understand my research – like what triggers the virus.” He shifted his attention to Robin and his smile widened. “Batman can _smell_ you, brat! Your pheromones triggered the virus and he can follow them; he’ll track you right across the city until he finds you. You’ll be dead before morning.”

“Shut. UP!” Wally snapped, shoving Jenkins where he sat.

“What’s the matter? Scared?” Jenkins mocked gleefully. “You should be. The rage gets worse the longer a host is infected. Right now, Batman is the most deadly killer in Gotham.” He shrugged. “Of course, he won’t hurt you if you stay out of his way, Flash Boy, he’ll only turn on you if you get in the way of his objective…” he turned stony eyes on Robin, “…ripping you apart.”

“Don’t make me gag you!” Wally threatened, advancing on the man. 

“Please!” the man scoffed. “You children don’t frighten me.”

Wally bunched a fist in front of his face. “Let’s just see about that!” 

“KF, leave him,” Robin interjected. “He’s not as smart as he thinks he is; he hasn’t considered all the variables in this equation.”

Wally gave him a confused look. “Meaning?” 

Robin smiled. “Pheromones don’t stay in the air long and I’ve been traveling by speedster all night. That’s why Batman hasn’t caught up with me since the clock tower; the pheromones dissipate before he can get far enough.”

A grin of comprehension crossed Wally’s face. “Ha! See, Rob? It’s like I keep telling you, I am the man.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Yes, KF, you are the man.”

The red-haired teenager’s smile faded slightly. “But if Batman can’t track you, then how do we find him? And what about Dr. Frankenstein?”

“I can activate the tracker in Batman’s utility belt.” Robin turned to look at Andrew Jenkins, who was watching them haughtily. “As for this jerk, he’s going exactly where he belongs: a jail cell.”

The man smirked. “Let’s see if they can keep me there. I have some _very_ powerful friends.”

Robin narrowed his eyes at that statement, but didn’t respond. “KF, see if you can find some sterile syringes and a sedative. I’m not leaving this guy conscious when we take off.”

Wally nodded and began rooting in the lab’s drawers and cupboards. Robin moved over to the desk beneath the window where a small, cordless phone sat. He could feel Jenkins’ eyes boring holes in the back of his head as he picked up the handset. Dialing Commissioner Gordon’s direct line, Robin hoped the officer hadn’t gone home. Even restrained, he didn’t want to leave Jenkins here, but they didn’t have time to deliver him to the police. 

“Hello?” the Commissioner’s tired voice sounded on the other end.

“Commissioner Gordon, it’s me, Robin.”

“Goddammit, son! Where’ve you been?! I expected to hear from you hours ago! Are you alright?”

Robin could hear anger and relief in the man’s tone. “I’m fine, Commissioner. Sorry I haven’t been in contact sooner.”

“Robin, what’s going on?” Gordon demanded. “Two men were brought into St. James just over an hour ago, beaten half to death! The one who was conscious said Batman did it!”

His heart plummeted. “Did that happen in The Narrows?”

“Yes.” Gordon’s voice was suspicious. “How did you know that?”

“Batman caught up with me there – three guys had cornered me, but they attacked him as soon as he arrived. I ran while they were fighting. Commissioner, has Batman done anything else?”

“Not that I know of. And what do you mean Batman caught up with you in The Narrows? You told me you were going to get help!”

“I was, but Batman found me first. I got away, Commissioner, and I managed to get help. We found the antidote and now we’re going to give it to Batman.”

“ _We?!_ Robin, you’re in no condition to go after Batman again!”

“I saw a doctor,” Robin lied. “My injuries looked worse than they were.”

“Humph!” the officer snorted. “Robin, you’d better not be–”

But Robin wasn’t giving him the chance to call him on his lie. “Commissioner, listen! I’m calling because we’ve caught the guy who created the virus. I’m leaving him for you to pick up. And you can send some officers to the slaughterhouse to collect the other men…although they might not be there anymore,” he added, remembering that he’d left the slaughterhouse in such a rush that he hadn’t properly restrained the unconscious men. 

_It’s not like you had a choice,_ he reminded himself.

“We already have the men from the slaughterhouse,” said Gordon, surprising him. “When I didn’t hear from you, I sent several officers over there. I was worried, Robin, and I can’t say I’m feeling any better about things now either! Let the Justice League handle Batman.”

“I’m fine, Commissioner,” Robin insisted, activating his holographic computer. “Really. I’m sending you the location of the man who created the virus now. His name is Andrew Jenkins. I’ll be in touch when we’ve given Batman the antidote.”

“You’d better be,” Gordon replied grimly. “And we’re going to have a very long talk about reckless endangerment of personal safety, Robin, count on that.”

Robin sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Putting down the phone, he jumped to find Wally right beside him. “Dude, we’ve talked about this – personal space?”

Wally ignored him. “You lied to the Commissioner.”

“What?” Robin was confused.

“You’re not fine. Why did you tell him you are?”

“Because I wasn’t going to waste time arguing with him. Did you get the syringes?”

“Yup.” Wally held up several prepackaged syringes. “I also found a nice strong sedative – can I be the one to give it to Dr. Frankenstein?” 

He gave Robin a slightly pleading look, and Robin couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement. “Knock yourself out.”

“Awesome.” Wally grinned and advanced on Jenkins, who had been watching them warily.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you filthy brat!” he warned Wally.

“Insulting me isn’t going to make me any nicer towards you,” Wally retorted, opening one of the syringes. Jenkins scowled at him.

While Wally sedated Jenkins, Robin returned his attention to his holographic computer and activated the tracker in Batman’s utility belt. Within seconds, he had a lock on his mentor’s location and felt his heartbeat quicken; Batman was smack in the middle of Summerville, one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in Gotham! If they approached him there, a civilian might get hurt. Robin frowned. They would have to lead him out of there first, but how?

The threads of an idea began to knit themselves together in his head. A very dangerous idea. But the more the plan took form, the more Robin realized that it was the only way. For Batman’s sake, they couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

The only problem would be convincing Wally.

oOo

Arriving in an empty parking lot on the outskirts of Summerville, Robin consulted his holographic computer once more.

Batman was less than six blocks away.

Trying to ignore the cold terror that washed over him at their proximity, Robin removed the vials from his utility belt and handed them to Wally. “You remember what to do?”

Wally turned his back and ignored Robin, stuffing the vials into the knapsack they had taken from Jenkins lab, along with a few other items to help them carry out Robin’s plan.

“KF?”

“I’m not talking to you.”

Robin groaned. They were back to this again? Wally already had a major freakout when he’d heard the plan, and it had taken Robin the better part of twenty minutes to convince him to do it. “KF, we’ve been over this already – this is the only way.”

“I don’t believe that!” Wally whirled around. “Robin, please don’t do this, it’s too dangerous.”

“Do you have another idea?”

Wally stared at him.

“KF, it’ll be fine, you’ll see. I’ve got you watching my back after all.”

Robin smiled at him, but Wally responded by throwing his hands up. “And that’s the problem; I’m _watching_ your back! You’re asking me to stand back and let him beat on you! You can’t ask me to do this, it’s not fair!”

“That’s not what I’m asking – I’m asking you to stay back until Batman is distracted enough for you to give him the first shot. KF, we’ve only got one chance at this! Batman’s uniform is too heavily padded with Kevlar for the needle to penetrate; the neck is his only weak point, and he needs to be distracted if you’re to get that close _and_ administer it accurately.”

Wally huffed. “Isn’t the virus supposed to make him less aware or slow to react or something?” 

“Did he seem slow to react in the clock tower?”

Wally sulked and crossed his arms. “No.” 

“Well then.” Wally still didn’t move. “C’mon, KF, we’ll hightail it out of here as soon as you’ve given him the first shot,” Robin wheedled, trying to appease him. He needed Wally to be on board with this; time was short and there was no room for error.

“Oh sure, great!” Wally snorted and uncrossed his arms. “Hightail it out of here with Batman on our ass! What good is running away when you want him to _follow_ us?”

“We need to lead him to the factory. Besides, there are too many civilians living in this area, we have to draw Batman away so that no one gets hurt.”

“It’s the middle of the night!” Wally hissed. “Most people are probably in _bed!_ ” 

“You want to take that chance? What if some little kid hears something and decides to come and say ‘hi’ when he sees Batman?”

Wally rolled his eyes. “Dude, what kid do you know who’d be brave enough to go out into the dark and say ‘hi’ to Batman?”

Robin had to smile at that. 

Wally shook his head. “There has to be another way.”

“And I’m all ears if you can tell me what that is, but if you can’t…” Robin put his hand on Wally’s arm. “Batman is running out of time, Wally, and I need your help. Please?”

Wally sighed. “I hate you for making me do this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Robin removed the communicator from his ear and handed it to Wally. “I don’t want to lose this. If the League are en route then they’re gonna need a way to track us.” 

Looking like he might throw up, Wally took the communicator. 

“You remember what to do at the factory?” Robin prompted. His friend looked like he was on the brink of a major breakdown and Robin felt bad about what he was asking him to do, but he had to make sure that Wally would carry out the plan.

Wally nodded.

“Then go. I need you back in time to save my butt!” Robin tried to keep his tone light, but his smile faded at the look Wally gave him. “I’ll be okay, Wally, I promise.”

“You’d better be. Because if you die, I’ll never forgive you.” And with a blast of air, Wally was gone.

Robin stared after him. The worst of it was, Wally wasn’t joking. 

Glancing towards the area where he knew Batman to be, Robin tried to ignore the feelings of guilt that bubbled up inside him. He had asked Wally to do something that would hurt him, and he had done so without admitting the full truth about _why_ he wanted to move the fight out of such a heavily populated area. Yes, he didn’t want any civilians to get hurt – the safety of innocent people always came first – but Robin also didn’t want any witnesses to what was about to go down between him and Batman.

When Robin had first started out as a crime fighter, there had been uproar amongst the superhero community and the civilian population. After all, he was just a child; a very young, very small, _human_ child. Even Batman’s biggest supporters had questioned his sanity. The media had declared Batman an unstable parent and the general population had cried for Robin to be removed from his care. CPS had eventually gotten involved and it had taken a massive effort from Batman, Commissioner Gordon and Superman to prevent them from taking Robin into care.

Robin knew that Gotham CPS still maintained an interest in him. There had been other sidekicks since he’d donned the mantle of Robin four years ago, but with the exception of Speedy, they all had powers…and Speedy was older than Robin by several years. They were all older than Robin. CPS would jump at an excuse to take him away from Batman. Steeling himself, he turned and began to walk towards Batman’s location. He wasn’t going to give CPS a chance to try taking him from his home again.

As he walked, Robin tried to keep his breathing slow and even. Despite his fear, he couldn’t afford to panic. Panicking would only get him, and possibly Wally, killed. He’d taken worse than a few hits before, and doing so now meant saving Batman’s life…which was all Robin cared about at this moment. He didn’t think he could bear it if he lost another parent.

After five minutes, Robin consulted his holographic computer again and almost stopped breathing; Batman was moving rapidly in his direction. He must know he was here. 

He waited until he saw the dark shape pounding across the rooftops towards him before retrieving his grapple gun and firing a line in the opposite direction. The strain on his ribs as he swung away made them ache and he could only take shallow breaths. Robin knew his ribs were in bad shape and wondered if adrenaline would be enough to get him through this.

Batman had told him that adrenaline could make someone’s pain threshold go up – the human body had an extraordinary ability to manage pain by producing endorphins as a form of pain medication; adrenaline could help you stay alive by blocking pain perception. Batman had utilized those natural defenses on many occasions, but tonight was Robin’s first time experiencing it. He would never have believed just how much of a difference it could make before tonight, but after adrenaline had kept him alive in The Narrows, Robin was convinced.

As he flew through the air, he glanced back to see if Batman was following him and felt his heart stop for a second. The Dark Knight was pursuing him at a frightening speed. Their earlier altercations didn’t seem to have slowed him down in the slightest. Robin gasped and tried to swing faster; he needed to reach Wally before Batman reached him.

Two minutes later, he arrived at the parking lot where he and Wally had parted ways. Landing with a pain-jarring thud on concrete, Robin caught sight of his friend’s terrified face peering over the wall surrounding the lot and felt a brief prickle of relief; Wally had gotten back on time. So far so good.

His relief was short-lived as a heavy _thump_ sounded just behind him. Quickly, Robin withdrew his escrima sticks and whirled to face Batman.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Batman’s face beneath the pale streetlights. The Dark Knight’s mouth was twisted in a vicious snarl, spittle foaming at the corners. Heart pounding, Robin gripped his sticks tighter and prepared for impact as Batman hurtled towards him.


	7. Chapter 7

Waiting until the last possible second, Robin swiftly sidestepped Batman and used one of his escrima sticks to smack away the man’s grabbing hands, while simultaneously smashing the other one into Batman’s temple and causing him to stumble. Circling away from Batman until the man’s back was to Wally’s location, Robin stopped moving when he charged again.

Batman swung at him and Robin ducked, driving one of the escrima sticks into Batman’s solar plexus before delivering a sweeping kick that knocked him to the ground. 

Backing away, he didn’t take his eyes off his mentor’s growling form as the man clambered to his feet. His ribs ached and he knew this fight would be a short one; he needed to move fast. Hurtling one of the escrima sticks at Batman, Robin watched it whizz through the air and strike his face, snapping his head to one side. The man’s attention momentarily diverted, Robin quickly retrieved two batarangs and hurled them with deadly precision just as Batman’s head swivelled towards him once more.

Both batarangs hit their target, slicing along the cowl on either side of Batman’s neck and creating two gaping rips. But the man didn’t even notice as he charged forward, swinging his fists at Robin. The boy twisted away and jammed his last escrima hard into Batman’s torso. The man grunted, seized the stick, and flung it over his shoulder.

Robin allowed Batman to seize his right arm while he threw up his left to protect his head from the fist coming at it. Pain flared when it cracked into his arm, but Robin held the limb steady and slammed it into Batman’s nose. The resulting crunch drew an enraged roar and Batman released the grip on his arm. Before the boy could react, two fists crashed into his ribs and he cried out as agony shivered through him.

A hand seized his throat and another blow thudded into his side. Robin retaliated by delivering a hard punch to Batman’s jaw.

It barely seemed to faze him.

The hand encircling his throat tightened and Batman drew back his other arm before driving it forward for a vicious punch. Robin quickly threw up his hands and caught the fist before it could connect. He briefly flashed back to the slaughterhouse. They had ended up in a similar position there too; one of Batman’s hands around his throat while the other tried to smash his face in.

Except that this time, Robin wasn’t alone.

In a move that threatened to strangle him, Robin jumped and swung forward as hard as he could, landing two savage kicks to his mentor’s knees that knocked the man’s legs out from under him. Batman pitched forward and crashed to the ground, pinning Robin beneath him. 

Pain ignited in his chest. Batman’s weight was crushing him, and Robin would have suffocated but for the slight loosening of the hand pressing on his windpipe. In the few seconds of breathing that bought him, he managed to reach up with both hands and tear apart Batman’s cowl where the batarangs had ripped it, exposing the man’s neck completely. 

And then the hand was squeezing his throat with enough force to break his neck. Robin made a choking noise and, ignoring the instinct to scrabble at the hand strangling him, threw up his hands to grab Batman about the face, blocking his peripheral vision. The man growled and tried to jerk his head back, but Robin held on tightly. The plan depended on Batman not being able to see Wally coming.

 _Now, Wally!_ he thought desperately, as a fist smashed into his face. He wouldn’t be able to maintain this grip for long…already his lungs were begging and straining for air. His legs kicked frantically.

Blood was pounding in his ears and his vision had started to darken when suddenly, Robin could breathe again. The world tunnelled back to him and he looked up just in time to see a roaring Batman pluck a syringe from his throat. A yellow ball smashed into the man’s side, knocking him off of Robin. The next thing he knew, someone had grabbed him and the world turned into a blur of movement. 

Wally. 

“I hate you! I hate you for making me do that!” his friend’s voice yelled at him.

“KF…” Robin gasped, trying to catch his breath, “slow down…”

Wally didn’t respond and Robin could feel his arms trembling from where they were clamped tightly around him. “KF…Batman needs to…find us…KF, STOP!”

They came to an abrupt halt and Wally put him down. Robin staggered a little, feeling like he might throw up. It was agony to take a breath. His lungs felt like they were on fire.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it: Wally had overshot his mark. “KF…” Robin wheezed, gulping in air, “we need to…go back. We’re too…far.”

“No!” Wally cried. “We’re not going back! We’re not! You can’t make me!”

Robin looked up from where he had been hunched over, one arm across his ribs. Wally was pale and shaking. He looked freaked in a way Robin had never seen before. 

“KF…” he began slowly, but Wally cut him off.

“No! No way! Don’t even ask, it’s too much! Do you hear me? _I won’t watch him kill you!_ ”

His voice rose in a near shriek and Robin stared at him. Wally was almost hyperventilating, and Robin thought about how he would feel if Wally had forced him to stand by and watch while someone beat and half-throttled him.

The thought sickened him.

Robin swallowed, feeling ashamed. “Wally…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. You’re right. It was too much.” 

Breathing hard, his mouth set tight, Wally didn’t respond.

“KF?” ventured Robin after several seconds. “Please say something.”

“Promise.”

Robin blinked. “What?”

“Promise you’ll never me make do that again.”

“KF–”

“ _Promise!_ ”

“I promise, Wally, I promise!” said Robin hurriedly.

They stared at each other.

“Wally,” said Robin, when the other boy remained silent, “we still need to go back. We’ve gone too far, Batman can’t track us.”

“I know.” He crossed his arms. “We’re not doing it your way, we’re doing it mine.”

Robin frowned. He couldn’t pull this off without Wally, but he also couldn’t take the chance that they might not deliver the second dose to Batman in time. “What do you mean?” 

“Instead of going straight to the factory, we’re going to play a little game of cat and mouse first. So long as I keep moving, Batman can’t catch us.”

“It’s too risky!” Robin argued at once. “You’ve been carrying me around all night _and_ you’ve only had one small snack! The second part of the antidote–”

“It’s not an antidote,” Wally reminded him.

“Whatever! The point is, the second syringe is back at the factory and we can’t take the chance that you’ll run out of juice before we get back there. You said the timing of the chemicals was very specific – we only have an hour!”

“Actually, we have fifty-four minutes,” Wally retorted, holding up his wrist and showing Robin the holographic timer in his watch. Robin was mildly impressed that despite everything, Wally had still remembered to activate the timer after giving Batman the first shot.

“KF, we can’t afford to get the timing of this wrong. Batman’s life depends–”

“I am not saving Batman’s life at the risk of yours!” Wally snapped. “It’s my way or no way, Robin.”

Robin studied his friend. Wally’s expression was uncharacteristically serious and his jaw was set firm. “Okay, what about a compromise? Twenty minutes of playing cat and mouse and then we lead Batman back to the factory? That way we still have time to get there if you run out of juice.”

“No.”

“C’mon, KF, the worst is over. Batman only has to get one more shot and he’ll be trapped in the net for that…”

“No!”

“Wally, please!” begged Robin desperately. “Batman is the only family I have left.”

Wally scowled. “Thirty minutes. And I give him the last shot – I can get away faster than you.”

“Deal.” Robin shot him a relieved smile. “Thanks, Walls.”

The older teenager gave a grumpy shrug and then tilted his head sideways as he studied Robin. “How are your ribs?”

“They hurt,” Robin admitted. “But I’ll live.”

“What about…” Wally gestured to Robin’s neck. “You sound like crap.”

Robin brushed it off, painfully aware of how hoarse he sounded. “It’s fine. Can we go back now? I can worry about this stuff after Batman is back to normal.” 

“Is he still in the same spot?”

Robin checked the tracker in Batman’s belt. “A little west of it. He’s probably trying to track me.” He tried not to think about how much that scared him; Batman was supposed to scare bad guys, not Robin.

“Okay then,” said Wally, looking distinctly unhappy as he scooped Robin up. “Let’s go play cat and mouse.”

oOo

It was the longest thirty minutes of Robin’s life.

He and Wally played a twisted game of cat and mouse with Batman; continually coming within sight of the Dark Knight, taunting him into chasing them but never actually getting close enough for him to catch them. By the time they reached the factory, Robin’s head was spinning from a combination of travelling by speedster and the pain of his injuries.

“This place stinks!” Wally complained, as they entered the factory.

“It’s a fish factory, KF, of course it smells.”

“Yeah, well, you could have picked a less fragrant location to trap Batman in.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “The fact that it stinks is the reason I picked it – I’m hoping it’ll make it harder for Batman to smell me.” He activated the holographic computer in his glove. “He’s three minutes away; get in position.”

“Dude, this had better work,” Wally muttered, zipping over to hide behind the crates stacked nearby.

Robin removed his grapple gun and fired it into the rafters, before activating the recoil to propel up there. Landing beside the net that Wally had hooked up while he’d lured Batman to the parking lot, Robin checked the rigging to satisfy himself that Wally hadn’t made any mistakes.

He needn’t have worried. Wally had done a good job.

Sitting in the dark, hands trembling where they hovered in position on the rope, Robin’s eyes never left the front door of the factory. He hoped that Batman would be able to track his scent to directly beneath the net, but that the strong smell of fish would confuse him enough so that he wouldn’t look _up_.

Batman appeared in the doorway to the factory and Robin didn’t dare breathe. He watched his mentor’s lumbering gait as he entered the building and scowled. Even Batman’s movements were off.

Tensing, he watched Batman come closer and closer, until he was directly beneath the net. Instantly, Robin cut the rope with a batarang and yelled, “NOW, KF!”  
The net collapsed over Batman, followed immediately by a yellow blur shooting out and grabbing the long coil of rope attached to it. Before Batman could do more than roar, Wally had sped around him in several circles, using the rope to restrain him within the net. As Wally finished, Robin dropped on Batman and knocked him to the ground.

“Tie it up!” Robin ordered, struggling to keep the man down. Fingers clawed at him from beneath the small holes in the net.

“Done!” Wally called, just as Batman bucked and threw Robin off. The boy landed on the concrete, where pain thudded through him. He rolled over and clambered to his feet with Wally’s assistance. Then they backed away, watching as the trapped Dark Knight thrashed and howled within the net. 

The net came down to mid-calf. Wally had wound the attached rope around Batman several times so that he now resembled a giant snake as he twisted and writhed on the ground. The rope was knotted tightly just below his knee while the remainder of it had been tied fast around a nearby pillar. Batman wasn’t going anywhere.

“It worked,” Robin muttered, both arms hugging his ribs. It hurt to breathe. “It really worked.”

Wally jerked around to stare at him. “You mean you didn’t think it would?!”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“But you had us do it anyway? Dude…” Wally huffed and shook his head, “…not cool.”

Robin cringed slightly. He would have to do some serious grovelling to make things up to Wally when this was all over. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Wally sighed. “Rob, I get that you want to save Batman, but enough with the kamikaze stuff, okay?”

Robin nodded awkwardly before changing the subject. “How long do we have left?” 

Wally consulted his watch. “Just over eighteen minutes. Wanna sit while we wait?”

It sounded like an excellent idea. Robin was exhausted and it felt like his legs were going to collapse. 

Both boys moved over to the crates where Robin immediately sat on the floor and leaned back, hissing as pain zigzagged up the right side of his chest.

“Think that’ll hold him?” asked Wally, still standing as he stared at Batman.

Robin glanced over at where the bound Batman was bucking, roaring and thrashing to escape the net. The sound hurt his ears. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I hope so.”

Wally bit his lip. “What do we do if it doesn’t?”

“Avoidance manoeuvres?” offered Robin with a weak grin. 

“Tch! You’d be lucky to avoid a drunk elephant right now!”

That surprised a snort of laughter out of him. “Drunk elephant?!”

Wally shrugged. “Best slow moving thing I could come up with.”

“You know, elephants aren’t actually that slow, they just can’t run for very long because they’re so big.”

Wally rolled his eyes. “Seriously, where do you get this stuff?”

“Raised in a circus, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He sat down beside Robin. “Do you think the League are still fighting the aliens or whatever?”

“Probably. We would have heard from them by now if they weren’t.”

“What if the aliens won?”

Robin groaned. “One problem at a time, KF! Let’s just get through this and then we’ll worry about the aliens.”

“But what if they’re hot aliens, like Miss Martian?”

“Then you can scare them all away with your cheesy pick-up lines!” Robin laughed, and then winced when it made his ribs hurt. 

“My pick-up lines aren’t cheesy!”

Robin snorted. “Yeah, right! Tell that to Miss M. The only reason they don’t scare her is because she thinks you’re harmless.”

“Harmless, pfffft! I am a butt-kicking bad-ass and– yeoch! Why’d you pinch me?!”

“To prove you’re not as bad-ass as you think; you still squeal like a girl.”

“You _pinched_ me!” Wally pointed out in an aggrieved tone, rubbing his arm. “Of course I– What is it? What’s wrong?” he demanded, as Robin got to his feet again.

The younger boy had just noticed how silent it had become. “Batman…he’s not making any noise.” His mentor wasn’t moving. Panic threatened to swallow Robin; had the virus killed Batman already?

Wally scrambled to his feet and stood beside him. “I’ll check on him.”

“KF–”

“ _Not_ up for debate!” Wally gave him a serious look. “I’m faster. Now, stay.”

Robin’s breath wedged in his throat as Wally zoomed over to Batman. The man’s thrashing had driven him closer to the pillar, where he lay with his back to them. Motionless. _Please let him be okay_ …

The black shape shifted as Wally drew near and Robin sighed with relief. Batman was alive.

But then Batman rolled around to face Wally, and Robin felt his relief sharpen into fear as the man twisted into a position Robin had seen a hundred times before. “KF! MOVE!” 

Before Wally could comply, Batman spun where he lay on his side and delivered a devastating kick to Wally’s knee, snapping two or more of the major ligaments and possibly dislocating his kneecap. The teenager dropped to the ground with a scream that tore through Robin.

“Wally!” He raced across to where Wally was writhing on the floor, clutching his knee. “It’s okay, Walls, it’s gonna be okay!” Robin tried to soothe him as he knelt down, his hands patting Wally’s arms frantically in an effort to calm him.

A dark-gloved hand seized his wrist and yanked, toppling Robin from his knees onto his side. Looking up, his heart almost stopped beating; one of Batman’s hands had wormed its way through a hole in the net…and the other was busy using a batarang to create a second hole. 

Robin froze, confused. _Batman’s using his utility belt?_ That made no sense, Batman was supposed to be beyond rational thought!

Their eyes met and Batman snarled, tugging Robin towards him. Instantly, he reacted, grabbing one of his own batarangs and stabbing Batman’s hand with it. The Dark Knight howled and released his wrist, allowing the boy to roll out of reach. Seizing Wally beneath the arms, Robin dragged him across the floor and away from Batman. The agony it caused his ribs made his head spin and he gritted his teeth.

Several feet away, he stopped pulling and dropped to the ground beside his friend. “KF, let me see!” he ordered, batting Wally’s hands out of the way and using a batarang to slice a rip in the fabric around Wally’s knee. His heart sank. The kneecap had been dislocated; it had meandered to the outside of the joint and the knee was already beginning to swell. 

“Wally, we need to splint this but it’s gonna hurt,” Robin told him, removing his cape and handing it to him. “Tear this into strips. I’ll find a stick we can splint your leg with.”

“N-no, Rob! You’ve got to r-run!” Wally gasped, his face twisted in pain.

“Now!” Robin hissed, running over to where he’d seen an old broom propped against the wall. He grabbed the broom and laid it on the ground. Putting one foot on the middle of the broom and grabbing each end with his hands, Robin pulled upwards. Agony seared through his torso as the broom cracked, but Robin ignored it and pulled with all his strength until the wood splintered completely. The broom now in two pieces, he sped back to Wally.

“Dude, he’s nearly out!” Wally cried, pausing in the middle of ripping strips from Robin’s cape. “You’ve got to run! Go! I’ll be fine!”

“I’m not leaving you here!” snapped Robin, beginning to splint Wally’s leg. He was the one who’d called Wally, who’d gotten him involved – it was his fault his friend was in danger! No way was he leaving him alone and helpless against Batman.

“It’s not my pheromones he’s chasing!” hissed Wally fiercely, grabbing Robin by the arms and shaking him. “Now run!”

“I’m not leaving you!” Robin insisted stubbornly. “When I ran in the Narrows, Batman didn’t chase me; he stayed behind and beat two men to a pulp!”

Wally blanched. Then his expression became grim. “But he didn’t kill them, did he? Robin, if you stay here, he will _kill_ you! You’ve got to run!”

Robin paused halfway through splinting Wally’s leg. Cold terror was slowly snaking its way through him and he swallowed before looking his friend straight in the eyes. “Wally, even if I run, I won’t get far. The only way we’re both going to survive this is by getting the last shot into him.”

Wally’s eyes narrowed. “What are you–?”

“Quick, how many minutes until the last dose?” Behind him, Batman was snarling and thrashing as he tore through the net. The man would be out in a matter of seconds. 

“Uh…” Wally hastily consulted his watch, “…exactly nine minutes and fourteen seconds. Why?”

Robin gritted his teeth. He wasn’t sure if he could keep Batman at bay for that length of time, but he had to at least try. It was the only way to save Wally and Batman…and hopefully himself. 

“KF, listen to me,” he said urgently. “Finish splinting your leg and then get to whatever corner you stored the syringes in. Stay there! When the time is up, give him the last shot. I’ll keep him busy for as long as I can.”

“What? No!” Wally looked horrified. “You can’t, he’ll– ohmygodhesout! Rob, _run_!”

Robin shot to his feet. “Do it, Wally!” he yelled, running away from his friend.

“NO!” Wally screamed after him. “You can’t do this…YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN’T MAKE ME WATCH THIS AGAIN!”

 _I’m sorry, Wally,_ thought Robin, retrieving his grapple gun and firing a line into the rafters. He swung upwards just as Batman came at him, barely avoiding the hands that grabbed at him.

Ignoring how his arms trembled and his ribs throbbed, Robin pivoted in midair and swung back around towards Batman, using the momentum of gravity to deliver a solid kick to the side of the man’s head that sent him reeling. Activating the recoil in his grapple gun, Robin whizzed back up into the rafters and flung three exploding batarangs at Batman. The Dark Knight knocked the first aside, but the second two thwacked into him and exploded, pelting him across the floor with a resounding _smack_. 

While Batman was stunned, Robin chanced a quick glance at Wally. His friend was feverishly splinting his leg and had almost finished. He should have been finished by now, but Robin suspected he kept stopping to check on him. 

Their eyes met and Robin could see total fear in Wally’s. “Robin,” he mouthed at him. 

Robin responded by waving a hand at him to get out of harm’s way. Wally merely scowled and shook his head, before resuming splinting his leg with a determination that left Robin nervous.

Batman was back on his feet and moving towards Robin. Fear thudded his heart faster as the man started to climb the stacked crates with alarming speed. Moving as far back along the rafters as he could, Robin waited until Batman was less than a foot from the rafters, before firing his grapple gun and swinging away. The howl of rage that echoed behind him chilled him to his very soul. 

Landing on a set of stacked crates on the far side of the room, Robin turned just in time to see Batman jump from the other crates and streak across the floor towards him. Reaching the bottom of the crates that Robin was perched on, Batman started to climb. 

“Sorry, Batman,” Robin muttered, pulling out an exploding batarang, “but I have to do this.”

He threw the batarang just as Batman was halfway to the top and the explosion toppled the man backwards, sending him crashing to the ground. 

His heart in his mouth, Robin watched Batman roll to his knees and shake his head as if to clear it before looking up. His eyes landed on Robin and his mouth twisted into an angry snarl. Lunging to his feet, he yanked out one of the crates from the middle, causing the others to tumble to the floor with a loud crash. As Robin fell from the teetering crates, he fired a line upwards. His plan was to land in the rafters again, but something seized his foot and dragged.

He looked down to see Batman clinging to his ankle, the weight creating an unbearable pressure on his ribs. As they swung through the air, Robin clutched at his grapple gun with both hands. If Batman got him on the ground again, he was finished!

With his free leg, Robin kicked hard at the hand curled around his ankle. But instead of loosening his hold, Batman yanked downwards and Robin felt his whole body snap. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. The strain on his torso was making it hard to breathe and Robin could feel himself slipping. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on…

“Hang on, Rob!” a voice yelled. 

Not daring to move his head, Robin cast his eyes downwards and felt a cold burst of horror when he spied Wally hobbling towards them, a crowbar in one hand. “KF! No!” he cried.

Wally ignored him and proceeded to whack at Batman’s dangling legs with the crowbar.

The man growled and suddenly the pressure on Robin’s ribs was gone. Looking down, he saw that Batman had dropped to the ground. He was now throwing punches at the red-haired teenager, while Wally hit him with the crowbar and tried desperately to dodge. But Wally wasn’t used to fighting without his powers and his knee made him slow. In seconds, Batman had grabbed the crowbar and whacked Wally across the head with it.

“Wally!” Robin screamed, as his friend was knocked to the ground. Flinging his body backwards to get some momentum going, Robin swung himself at Batman for a vicious dropkick.

But before it could connect, the man spun, seized his leg and pulled hard. Weakened and injured, Robin couldn’t maintain his grip. His hands slipped and he plummeted downwards, Batman’s hand still gripping his leg. Robin tried to twist away as he fell, but Batman seized his arm and with a violent jerk, brought his knee upwards and slammed Robin bodily into it.

Pain exploded inside him and the world flashed in a blinding array of colours. Robin could barely think; he forgot how to move, as he struggled to take in a breath through the excruciating fire that had seized hold of his lungs and was squeezing hard. The only thing he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the strangled rattle from his chest as he tried desperately to suck in air. But he couldn’t seem to get enough – something was pressing hard on his ribs, preventing him from breathing in deep enough to satisfy his battered lungs. He tried to gather his dazed thoughts and slowly became aware of something cold against his cheek. He was facedown on the ground. 

Robin was confused. How had he ended up on the floor? 

Feebly, he pushed himself upwards onto his elbows and the pressure on his chest eased. Able to breathe somewhat, his heaving lungs gulped in air and the lights flashing before his eyes dimmed. His vision clearing, Robin sensed shapes moving somewhere in front of him.

He looked up and was horrified to see that Batman and Wally were embroiled in a deadly struggle. “Wally…” he croaked, that one word fanning the fire in his lungs again. Choking, Robin tried to get to his feet but only managed to reach his knees before collapsing again. Something wet rattled in the back of his throat and he knew there was something seriously wrong with him.

His eyes never leaving Wally, Robin removed his last three exploding batarangs. When Batman delivered a violent punch to Wally’s jaw that sent the teenager staggering backwards, Robin summoned every ounce of energy he had left and flung them at Batman.

They exploded on contact, the blast propelling Batman across the room and Wally back towards Robin. “Rob!” Wally cried, twisting around as he landed nearby. 

Robin wanted to cry when he saw his friend; his nose was broken, his jaw was swelling and he had a split lip. Robin had gotten him into this and he needed to get him out. “Wally…how long?” he wheezed, every word like a knife in his chest as his friend scrambled towards him.

“What?” 

Robin gestured to Wally’s watch. Speech hurt too much.

“Three minutes and seven seconds,” he replied, checking his watch.

“Get…syringe,” Robin managed. “Leave Batman…to me.”

“Rob, you can’t even move!”

“That’s why you…have to,” Robin reminded him, fumbling with his utility belt and pulling out a taser, which he held up in front of Wally. “Only…way…we both…survive.”

Batman was back on his feet and running towards them again. Their eyes met and Robin gave Wally a pleading look.

“I hate that you have a point,” Wally whispered, pain that Robin knew wasn’t physical shadowing his eyes. Getting awkwardly to his feet, Wally limped away, heading for the back of the factory where Robin guessed he had stashed the last dose.

Rolling onto his left side, Robin propped himself on his elbow and clutched the taser tightly in his right hand. He recoiled slightly as Batman hurtled towards him and braced himself as the man threw himself on him, knocking him backwards onto the concrete.

Agony ricocheted along his chest from the impact, and Robin could feel blackness pulling along the edges of his consciousness. He blinked it away quickly; he couldn’t afford to pass out just yet.

As the first fist smashed into him, Robin brought up the taser and jammed it into Batman’s stomach. The man jolted and convulsed violently from where he straddled Robin, one fist frozen in midair and the other one clenched just above Robin’s chest. The boy paused for a second to give Batman a chance to breathe, and then tasered him again. The Dark Knight’s teeth clenched and he grunted between spasms. Another pause and Robin hit Batman with a third blast. But this time, the hand above his chest jerked and seized his wrist. Before Robin could move, Batman snapped it.

His stunted breathing caused him to choke on his own cries of pain, and Robin barely felt the taser slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor. With his good hand, he threw a desperate punch at Batman’s jaw before thumping hard at his torso.

With an angry growl, Batman grabbed the wildly swinging fist and pinned it to the floor. The pressure increased on his broken wrist and Robin could feel it being twisted until the sensation of bone being forced through skin made him forget everything. He screamed as lacerated nerve endings sent signals to his brain faster than he could cope. White, hot agony was everywhere and his legs kicked frantically as his body begged for release. His chest hitched in panic and Robin could feel himself struggling to breathe.

Batman was going to kill him. His own mentor, his father, was actually going to kill him.

 _Nooooo! Nononono!_ Robin was afraid. He couldn’t help it. Desperately, he tried to wriggle free, causing shards of pain to stab at him from the inside. 

Pain erupted inside his head. Batman had released his wrists and was now violently pummeling him, fists pounding into him. Robin could feel flecks of Batman’s spittle hitting him on the cheek as the man snarled at him, but he couldn’t even raise his arms to defend himself.

“Ba’man…please…” he gasped, trying to gulp air past the wet and tangy something rising in the back of his throat. 

A savage blow was leveraged into his face, making his head snap to the side. The world listed, and Robin could feel himself tumble off the edge until a ferocious roar pulled him back.

Blinking past the darkness threatening to swallow him, Robin could just make out Batman yanking a syringe from his throat, while Wally, who appeared to be clinging to his back and mauling his face, screamed at him.

“Get off of him! GET OFF!”

The man turned on Wally and leapt at him, two enormous hands seizing his neck. He shook Wally like a rag doll and Robin moved to aid his friend, but found he couldn’t do more than roll onto his side. “Wally…” he wheezed, sucking in broken gasps, “…no.” His body twitched as he tried to get up, one hand clawing at the floor. “Please…Batman…stop…”

Seconds later, Batman was tossing Wally aside like he was nothing. Robin watched in horror as his friend’s body slumped to the ground. “No,” he choked, a suspicious burning blurring his vision. “Walls…”

And then the dark figure of Batman was looming over him. Two hands gripped him tightly by the throat and Robin jerked as Batman slowly crushed his windpipe. He could feel tears on his cheeks. Wally was dead. The antidote had failed and Batman would die. It had all been for nothing. 

Giving up all hope, Robin closed his eyes and allowed the darkness clawing at his consciousness to devour him.


	8. Chapter 8

Wally watched helplessly as the crates Robin was perched on toppled to the floor. 

“ROBIN!” he shouted, pulling himself to his feet despite the pain that lanced through his leg from his decimated knee. 

A line shot out from the falling crates and he sagged in relief. But it was short-lived when he saw Batman jump and seize Robin by the ankle. The Dynamic Duo swung towards the centre of the room, Batman’s weight slowing them to a stop where they remained hanging in midair.

Wally could see Robin’s arms trembling from the strain, and knew he’d never be able to hold on. Frantically throwing his gaze around, his eyes landed on a rusty old crowbar lying on the ground near the crates. Hobbling over to it, Wally swooped down and grabbed the crowbar. “Hang on, Rob!” he yelled, limping towards them as fast as he could.

“KF! No!” Robin cried, but Wally ignored him and swung at Batman’s dangling legs. Putting as much strength as he could behind each swing, he beat the man about the legs until he dropped in front of him.

Wally gulped and backed up as the man advanced on him. A huge fist came at him and the teenager ducked, driving the crowbar into Batman’s stomach. It didn’t even slow him down. Panic washed over Wally when the man continued to swing at him. Batman was faster than he would ever have guessed, and he was so _screwed_ without his powers. 

Suddenly, the crowbar in his hands was gone and before he could even blink, something metallic collided with his skull. Stars exploded behind his eyes and Wally felt himself hit the ground, pain lighting up his injured leg. Through the haze of pain, he thought he heard someone call his name. Blinking furiously to clear his swimming vision, Wally looked up just in time to see Batman smash Robin bodily into his upright knee. To his absolute horror, Wally _heard_ something crack inside the younger boy.

“ROBIN!” he screamed, as Batman flung the limp body to the floor.

Moving faster than his injury should allow, Wally scrambled to his feet and pelted himself at Batman, latching on tightly to his neck. “Don’t you _dare_ touch him again!” he snarled, as Batman clawed at his arms to get him off. But Wally held on tightly and refused to let go, all the while struggling to ignore the shrill whine of panic ringing in his head. Robin hadn’t moved yet. _Please don’t be dead, Rob! Please don’t be dead_ …

Suddenly, Batman ducked and threw Wally over his shoulder. He landed hard on his back with Batman crouched over him. Winded, he wasn’t lucid enough to avoid the fist coming at his face. It smashed into his nose with a sickening crunch and Wally cried out as sharp pain erupted in his head and spots danced before his vision. He could taste blood on his upper lip. Another punch thudded into his jaw and Wally groaned. Batman hit hard!

He caught the third fist before it could connect and twisted, planting the foot of his uninjured leg on Batman’s torso and shoving the man away from him. As Batman flew backwards, Wally clambered to his feet. His leg was trembling with pain, but the teenager ignored it as Batman charged again, fists flying. Wally managed to duck several punches, but others hit their mark, and one smashed into his teeth so hard that he thought Batman may have dislodged a few molars. A particularly hard punch to the jaw sent him reeling and Wally staggered upright just in time to see three batarangs smash into Batman and explode, sending him and Wally flying in opposite directions.

Only one person could have thrown those batarangs. “Rob!” Wally cried, swivelling around where he landed.

Robin lay on his stomach just a few feet away, propped on his elbows. His arms were trembling from the effort of keeping himself upright and the awful rattle of his breathing sent cold knives of fear into Wally’s heart. “Wally…how long?” he gasped, as Wally hurried over to him.

“What?” Wally said, confused, as he dropped beside him. Looking like he was going to collapse at any second, Robin gestured to his watch. “Oh.” Wally looked down. “Three minutes and seven seconds.”

“Get…syringe,” Robin wheezed, his inability to draw a full breath terrifying Wally. “Leave Batman…to me.”

“Rob, you can’t even move!” Wally didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was Robin serious?

“That’s why you…have to.” Robin pulled out a taser from his utility belt and held it up. “Only…way…we both…survive.”

Wally glanced at Batman, who was racing for them again, and looked back at Robin. The younger boy’s eyes were desperate and Wally was horrified to realize that he was right. He couldn’t get Robin out of here, nor could he fight Batman. The only way they were leaving here alive was by giving Batman the final shot – and Robin couldn’t move which meant Wally would have to do it.

Pain flooded him when he realized what that meant. “I hate that you have a point,” he whispered, the lump in his throat almost choking him.

It cost Wally everything he had to get to his feet and leave Robin behind. Part of him thought he might cry as he headed for the back of the factory where he’d stashed the syringes to keep them safe. Robin had insisted upon keeping them away from the action in case the net didn’t work – he’d been afraid one or both syringes would get smashed if there was a struggle. Even with a spare, Robin wouldn’t take the chance.

Wally could kind of see his point: while giving the initial dose to Batman, he had accidentally dropped and smashed the first syringe, forcing him to use the backup. But knowing that did nothing to alleviate the distress that was now choking him as he was forced to limp away from a defenceless Robin, just so he could retrieve the ridiculously small vials that _might_ save their lives. 

It didn’t help that Wally couldn’t use his speed. He wasn’t used to being this helpless, and it was making his panic worse. He seriously didn’t know how Robin had kept going all night while injured. With his knee crippled, all Wally wanted to do was hide.

Reaching the corner where he’d stashed the syringes, Wally grabbed them and paused long enough to check his watch. One minute and twelve seconds. This nightmare was nearly over. Hobbling back as quickly as he could, Wally was trying to calculate how long it would take for the final dose to kick in when a scream made his blood run cold.

_Robin!_

Sheer terror tore through him, and without giving any thought to the damage he might do to his knee, he started to run. Slow, stumbling, pain-filled steps devoid of his usual superspeed that made Wally want to scream.

He could hear the sickening sound of fists striking flesh as he got closer, and then Robin’s voice gasping, “Ba’man…please…”

It broke Wally’s heart to hear Robin beg.

Wally looked at his watch. Seven seconds. Rounding the stacked crates, he witnessed Batman deliver a brutal punch to Robin’s face that sent blood spurting from his mouth. “NOOOOOOOO!” Wally roared, increasing his speed as best he could and feeling something in his knee snap. His leg twisted beneath him, but Wally quickly used his good leg and forward momentum to propel himself at Batman.

He landed on the man’s back and seized the cowl with his left hand, while his right thrust the syringe into Batman’s neck and pushed the plunger in. The man stiffened, gave a violent jerk and then plucked the needle from his throat. 

Wally clawed wildly at his face and eyes, all the while yelling, “Get off of him! GET OFF!”

Batman twisted, knocking Wally off and lunging at him. Before the teenager could stop him, both hands closed tight around his neck and squeezed.

Wally had never been strangled before. The pressure on his throat made him feel like his eyes might pop. He scrabbled at Batman’s hands and tried not to panic when the man shook him and tightened his grip. _It’s cool, it’s okay. He got the last shot; any second now Batman’s gonna be back to normal…any second now…WHY ISN’T HE TURNING BACK TO NORMAL?_

Robin’s wet, strangled gasps weren’t helping his panic. Each broken, jagged gulp sent shudders of fear through Wally.

His vision started to darken and his lungs begged for air…and Batman still wasn’t letting go! The second shot wasn’t working! Why?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wally recalled Jenkins’ notes saying the shots took time to kick in, but he’d thought that only applied to the first one – he hadn’t realized it meant the second one as well! He and Robin would be dead before Batman returned to normal!

Robin was now choking out his name, pleading with Batman to stop, and Wally could hear the younger boy asphyxiating behind the ragged gasps. Wally was being strangled, and his best friend was suffocating right alongside him. He _had_ to get them out of here!

_C’mon, Wally, think!_

Blood pounding in his head and his vision starting to darken, Wally did the only thing he could think of – he went limp.

It was hard not to fight for life when Batman was throttling him, when his best friend was whimpering his name from just a few feet away, but Wally forced himself not to move – to remain limp in Batman’s grasp. His consciousness was ebbing away when suddenly, the stranglehold around his neck disappeared and his body was flung roughly to the ground. 

It took him a moment to regain his breath. His head was spinning and it was an effort to suppress the instinct to greedily suck in air. But he couldn’t afford to let Batman hear him. The element of surprise was the only defense he had left. Wally carefully cracked open his eyes to assess the situation and bit back the cry that almost escaped. Batman was bent over Robin, strangling him, and the younger boy wasn’t moving! 

Getting to his feet as quickly as he could without making noise, Wally used his good leg to push off and leap at Batman. Once more landing on his back, Wally put both arms around the man’s neck and squeezed hard. Immediately, Batman released Robin and moved to dislodge Wally. But the teenager pressed his face against the back of his neck and held on tightly, trying to ignore the hands scratching and tearing at his arms and head. He could feel Batman clamber to his feet and before the man could flip him off, Wally wrapped his good leg around his waist. Batman bucked and twisted, trying to toss him off, but Wally held firm. He pressed his arms harder against Batman’s neck, hoping to strangle him into unconsciousness.

But Batman backed up and used his body to slam Wally into the nearby pillar. Dazed, his leg slipped from Batman’s waist and his arms loosened their hold, allowing Batman to flip him over his shoulder. But instead of letting him fall to the ground, Batman leveraged Wally into the nearest wall.

Wally grunted as he hit the wall, and then felt himself drop to the floor. Pain was coursing through him and he could hardly see straight. Rolling onto his hands and one good knee, he looked up. Batman was moving back towards Robin. “NO!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet and ignoring how the room tilted. “Batman! No! _You’ll kill him!_ ”

Shaking his head, Wally hopped forward and threw himself desperately at Batman, wrapping his arms around the man’s legs and knocking him to the floor.

The next thing he knew, he and Batman were rolling over and over, hands clawing and fists flying. The man was bellowing ferociously, making Wally quake in fear, but he refused to give up. The antidote had to kick in soon, it just had to! All he had to do was keep Batman off of Robin until then.

Which sounded great in theory, but in reality didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of working…not when the Dark Knight was, you know, trying to _kill_ him! “Goddammit, Batman!” cried Wally in fear and frustration, hanging onto one of the man’s fists with one hand, while smooshing his face with the other. “Snap. Out of it!”

The man responded by winding up for a deadly blow that could potentially crush Wally’s skull.

Except the punch never connected. Something blue barreled into Batman and before Wally could blink, he was gone.

_Uh, what just happened?_

Holding one hand to his spinning head, Wally slowly sat up and looked towards the far side of the room. His jaw dropped to see Batman and Superman locked in the mother of all showdowns. 

“Kid! Kid! Are you alright?!”

Wally turned and found the concerned face of the Flash staring right at him. He blinked at his uncle, unable to believe what he was seeing. 

“Wally, say something!” his uncle begged.

The younger speedster exploded. “Where the _hell_ have you been?!”

“Off-world. Kid, I’m sorry, the League had no idea things were this bad–”

A roar from the far side of the room drew their attention. Wonder Woman, Hal Jordan and Martian Manhunter had joined Superman in trying to bring Batman down, but the man was rabid with rage as he howled and walloped his fellow teammates, all of whom seemed reluctant to hurt him to bring him down.

“Wally, what are we dealing with? What’s going on?” Flash demanded.

“ _I don’t know!_ ” Wally practically bawled, his nerves fraying fast. “We gave him the cure! I don’t know why he isn’t snapping out of it! We– ohmygod! Rob!” 

Jerking around, Wally’s eyes landed on Robin lying completely still several feet away. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” he babbled frantically, trying to heave himself to his feet. But even splinted, his injured leg would no longer support him. “Rob! ROBIN!”

“Stop it, Wally!” Flash ordered. “Lie still or you’ll damage that leg even more. I’ll check on him.”

Wally ignored him. As his uncle dashed over to Robin, he proceeded to pull himself across the floor towards his friend. _C’mon, dude, please don’t be dead…please, please, please…_

His uncle was bent over Robin, his back to him. Wally’s heart nearly stopped when his uncle turned and bellowed, “SUPERMAN! GET OVER HERE!”

Wally reached them at the same time the Man of Steel did. His expression was horrified when he took in the two teenagers. “Flash…?”

“Quickly, scan Robin now!” the older speedster ordered urgently. Without asking any questions, Superman leveled an intense stare at the unconscious boy. 

Wally guessed he was using his x-ray vision and felt his heart beat faster. Something was wrong here, something was very, very wrong.

Superman looked at Flash, his expression grim. “Flail chest. And one of his lungs has collapsed!”

Wally’s heart stopped beating, while Flash shot to his feet. “Superman, take him to Mount Justice _now!_ ”

“Barry, you’re faster–”

“Which means I’m the only one who can get Dr. Mid-Nite from Seattle to Mount Justice on time!”

Superman’s eyes narrowed in realization. Squatting down, he carefully picked Robin up and wrapped him in his cape before getting to his feet again.

“Is…is he gonna be alright?” Wally whispered. 

They looked at him but didn’t answer. Wally whimpered, every molecule in his body thrumming in fear. He knew what no answer meant.

“Go,” Flash told Superman, as he knelt beside Wally once more. The Kryptonian, his expression grim, gave a curt nod and took off, his precious cargo clutched tightly to him.

Wally began to shake as his nerves finally started to go, and Flash put a hand on his shoulder. “Kid–”

They were interrupted once more by a ferocious howl. Both speedsters turned to where Hal Jordan had imprisoned Batman within a green-construct cage. The man was bellowing like a wounded animal while switching between throwing himself at the bars, and rampaging back and forth. He looked almost inhuman in his rage.

Something inside of Wally kind of just snapped. “WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, YOU FREAK?! WE GAVE YOU THE STUPID CURE SO JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!” He struggled to get to his feet, his whole frame rigid and shaking. He couldn’t even feel his uncle trying to keep him down. “DO YOU HEAR ME?! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” 

“Wally, take it easy–”

“DON’T TELL ME TO TAKE IT EASY!” Wally turned on the hands trying to calm him down and lashed out, striking his uncle. He was sobbing now, his throat raw from screaming. He felt worn out, his nerves shattered. His head was ringing. He had watched his best friend sacrifice himself, over and over, and it had all been for nothing. Robin could die and it had all been for nothing.

His uncle moved to hug him, but Wally tensed like an animal with its hackles raised and smacked his hands away. “Don’t touch me! You have no idea, no idea what he did…you weren’t there… _I said don’t touch me!_ ”

Wally couldn’t breathe. His head hurt, his heart hurt. Everything hurt. Hysteria washed over him and his chest hitched in panic as he sobbed. The world was closing in on him. 

Words were murmured, quiet and gentle, “Wally, it’s okay. Shhhh, relax,” but they failed to break through his panic, and then he heard a name uttered in a pleading voice, “J’onn…”

Something cool and soothing washed over him, quieting the dreadful din in his head. His panic lessened and he stopped gulping for air. Wally could feel his eyes grow heavy and his body slumped.

A familiar voice spoke from very far away. “I’ve got him, Barry. Go.”

And Wally knew no more.

oOo

Pain. That was the first thing that Bruce became aware of. Sharp, dreadful pain that felt like needles in his head. The second was that he couldn’t move. He cracked open his eyes, and shut them quickly when a too-bright light stung harshly. But the brief peek was enough to tell him where he was. The Batcave infirmary. He frowned. Something had evidently gone wrong on patrol last night.

“Alfred?” he called hoarsely. 

“He’s upstairs,” said a familiar voice.

Bruce’s eyes shot open and he squinted in the general direction of the voice. He could vaguely make out a mass of blue and red just a few feet away. “What are you doing here?” he barked. He despised people seeing him vulnerable.

“Nice to see you too, Bruce,” said Superman drily. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Turn down the damn light!” Bruce ordered, still squinting. “It’s too bright in here.”

The blue and red moved away. “You make a wonderful patient, anyone ever tell you that?” 

Bruce ignored him. Seconds later, the light dimmed and he blinked furiously, spots dancing before his eyes as his vision cleared. Superman came into focus beside his bed…as did a splint on his own nose. It must have been a bad break if Alfred was forced to splint it. His eyes narrowed when a cursory glance revealed the reason he couldn’t move was because both his wrists and ankles were handcuffed to the bed. Further investigation revealed rope looped around his torso to restrain him further. 

“What happened?” he demanded, when his brain proved too cloudy to give him any clarity on the situation.

“What do you remember?” 

He growled. “Cut the crap, Clark, and answer the question!”

Superman shook his head, his expression grim. “I need to know what you remember first.”

Bruce frowned, not liking such evasiveness. Something had happened. He tried to organize the broken images floating through his brain; Gordon, the fight clubs, the Sanders brothers, the slaughterhouse, Robin…

“Robin!” he cried, bolting upright as much as his restraints would allow. “Where’s Robin?!”

Superman remained impassive. “He’s at Mount Justice. Why?”

Bruce’s mind spun furiously. He recalled the boy’s body pinned beneath his – he’d supposedly been infected with rage – and then…nothing. The billionaire looked at his hands; his knuckles were bruised and the pain suggested several were broken. That level of damage meant he had punched something multiple times, and those punches had been hard. Cold sweat beaded his forehead. “Is he alright?”

“He’s safe.”

Bruce wanted to hit him. “For Chrissakes, Clark! Why are you being so fucking cryptic?! Just answer me! Is he alright? Did I hurt him?”

“So you remember then.” Superman looked at him with pity. “I’m sorry, Bruce. He’s critical.” 

Bruce’s world dropped out from under him. 

“Sorry for being so evasive,” Superman continued quietly, “but I didn’t want to tell you unless I had to.”

The words resonated in his crumbling psyche. “Didn’t want to tell me? Why in hell wouldn’t you tell me?! He’s my son!” Bruce struggled to sit up. “I want to see him. Get these things off me.”

“No.”

Bruce froze where he had been rattling the handcuffs against the bed railings. “Excuse me?”

Superman sighed unhappily. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. Until we’ve established that you’re cured, I can’t let you near him.”

“You’ll notice that I’m talking to you like a rational person,” Bruce pointed out, barely keeping his temper in check.

“Because Robin isn’t here. But his pheromones can potentially still trigger your rage.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Let me out of this damn bed right now, Clark! I want to see my son!” He pulled and rattled at the cuffs in anger and frustration.

“Bruce, you almost _killed_ him! Think about this rationally, would you want yourself near Robin if there was even the slightest chance you might attack him again?”

Bruce slumped in defeat. “No.”

“Dr. Mid-Nite is doing everything he can for him. And Leslie Thompkins has been running herself ragged going between Mount Justice and here. You can’t do anything for him so please, just trust them to do their job, okay?”

Bruce bowed his head and closed his eyes. It felt like his heart was breaking. How could he have let this happen? His own _son_ and he’d… His eyes snapped open. Exactly what had he done? “Tell me everything,” he demanded in a harsh growl, head coming up to stare at Superman.

“I’m not going to tell you everything,” Superman replied, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that look, Bruce, there are some things you don’t need to know.”

Bruce scowled. Bull-headed Kryptonian. “How did you find Robin? How did he…?” His voice trailed off and he swallowed.

“Survive?” Superman supplied quietly. He put a hand on Bruce’s arm and the billionaire shrugged it off in irritation. Superman sighed. “He survived because he’s as stubborn as you. Because he’s been trained by you.”

“That’s my boy,” Bruce choked with broken pride. “What did he do?”

“After he escaped from the slaughterhouse, he contacted Alfred and told him to get out of the cave – apparently they had a contingency plan for if you ever went rogue.”

Bruce nodded, glad that he had insisted upon such a plan. 

“He went to Commissioner Gordon next,” Superman continued, “and had him put the word out to every cop in Gotham not to approach you. Robin was afraid that you could be dangerous to anyone who crossed your path. Of course, Gordon didn’t want to let him leave after that, but Robin had lost his communicator during the initial fight with you and he needed to get to Mount Justice to contact the League.”

“I hit him, didn’t I?” Bruce interjected. “That’s how he lost the communicator.” 

Superman nodded reluctantly, and self-loathing crawled over Bruce at the idea of striking his own son. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in control – the one person in the world that Batman should never _ever_ hurt, was Robin. And then it hit him; Robin had still been mobile at that point! How did he go from mobile to critical unless…

“He didn’t make it to Mount Justice, did he?”

Superman’s silence was answer enough.

“What did I do?”

“I already told you there are things you don’t need to know. No, Bruce, we’re not going there,” he added, before he could argue. “You weren’t in control and you couldn’t help it.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Bruce snapped bitterly. “You didn’t beat your own child half to death! Save it!” he spat, as Superman opened his mouth. “I’m not in the mood to hear about how I couldn’t _help_ it!”

For once, the Boy Scout heeded him and remained silent. Hands shaking in anger and self-loathing, Bruce gritted his teeth and tried to get his turbulent emotions under control. How could he have done this? _How?_

“What happened after I caught up with him?” he finally managed to grind out in an effort to knock the sympathetic expression off of Superman’s face. The Kryptonian’s pity was not helping his mood. 

It didn’t work. Clark continued to watch him with an infuriating air of concern while he resumed his narration. “Robin managed to get away, but he lost his utility belt in the process and you had chased him into the Narrows. Three street hoods tried to attack him, but you showed up and they turned on you instead. From what Wally has said, you showing up saved Robin–”

“Kid Flash was there?” Bruce interrupted sharply. 

Superman nodded. “Robin called him.”

“Why?”

It looked like it hurt Superman to answer. “Because he had no other choice. He was trapped in The Narrows with no utility belt and broken ribs. The nearest zeta-tube was miles away and he wasn’t making it there, not with you tracking him. He wanted Wally to contact Barry and send him to Gotham, but Flash was off-world with three other Leaguers, so Kid Flash came instead. Wally took Robin to where Alfred was holed up and they contacted the League–”

“If they contacted the League, then how did Robin end up in critical condition?” 

“Because the League didn’t come to Gotham right away–”

Bruce exploded. “WHAT?!” 

Superman rushed to explain. “We were down five League members and in the middle of an alien attack! Robin talked to Ollie, but he didn’t tell him how bad things were, or that he was injured. He just said that you had been infected with rage and asked if he could have help bringing you in. He told Ollie that Kid Flash was there, and Ollie assumed that they had things under control enough to wait until we had the alien attack neutralized. It wasn’t until we were on the approach to Gotham and I heard Wally screaming at you to stop that we knew how bad things were. Bruce, if we’d known, we would have sent someone, I swear!”

The billionaire couldn’t look at him. He knew the League would have acted if they’d realized how bad the situation was, but he couldn’t help feeling angry that the one time Robin had really needed their help, they weren’t there. 

“Bruce?” Superman addressed him tentatively. 

He didn’t respond. Bruce knew the Man of Steel was tearing himself to pieces over this, but he still couldn’t bring himself to tell him it was alright. Because things weren’t alright. They were as far from alright as it was possible to get.

“Just tell me the rest of what happened,” he ordered coldly.

Superman winced at his tone. “Robin discovered that the virus kills after twenty-four hours, so he went after the antidote while they waited for the League. But when they tracked the virus to its creator, they found out that it caused irreversible brain damage after a certain length of time and, well…”

“Robin convinced Kid Flash to come after me so they could deliver the antidote,” Bruce finished. _Dammit, Dick._

He knew Dick had come after him to save him, but Bruce wished he hadn’t. Dick was far, far more important than he was. And far more precious. He swallowed and closed his eyes. A pain that he hadn’t felt since he was a child threatened to overwhelm him. “Why didn’t the antidote work?” he asked, grief distorting his voice.

“Because it wasn’t an antidote. It was a means to halt the virus’ progression and reverse its effects, but not cure it. The virus could still be triggered by the pheromones driving it. In this case…”

“Robin’s,” Bruce whispered, opening his eyes. 

Superman nodded. “With Robin there, driving the thing, you were never going to calm down. Unfortunately, giving you the means to reverse it made you more deadly because you developed some semblance of rational thought – before that you had been operating on pure instinct.”

“Why the hell didn’t they run?” cried Bruce in anguish. “Kid Flash was there – why didn’t he get them out of there?!”

Superman shifted uncomfortably. “You blew out his knee. They were trapped.”

Bruce stared at him in horror. He had hurt _both_ boys?!

“Wally’s going to be fine,” Superman reassured him quickly. “The surgery on his knee was a complete success. With his accelerated healing, he should be back on his feet in no time.”

Despair stabbed at him. Wally may have accelerated healing, but Dick didn’t. Bruce clenched his hands into fists and his heart ached to see his son. “Clark, is there a cure for this thing? I need to see him, but I…I don’t want to hurt him.” 

“I know you don’t,” said Superman quietly. “Bruce, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but while you were out of it, J’onn and Barry worked around the clock, trying to synthesize a cure. About six hours ago – they had a breakthrough.”

“Breakthrough?” 

“A way to breakdown the virus’ DNA completely. Leslie administered the antidote they developed over an hour ago and you started to come around shortly after. J’onn is on his way here now to perform some tests to determine its success.”

“What sort of tests?” demanded Bruce sharply.

Superman shook his head. “I don’t know. But the fact that you’ve regained consciousness and can talk to me is a good sign – you’ve been out of it for more than thirty-six hours.”

“Thirty-six hours?!” Bruce was horrified. Thirty-six hours and Dick was still critical? What in _hell_ had he done to his son?

“The chemical formula that Jenkins developed to counteract the effects of the virus reacted differently because it was administered in Robin’s presence,” Superman explained. “You’ll have to ask Barry for the ins and outs of it, but from what I can gather, Robin’s pheromones combined with the solution to trigger a completely different chemical reaction in your brain. Fortunately, it was enough to prevent any brain damage from occurring…we were worried about that when you didn’t regain consciousness.”

“I take it Jenkins is the man who developed this virus?”

“Yes. But he’s in police custody now so you don’t need to worry about him,” Superman hastened to add.

Bruce growled. That ruled out any chance of a one on one with the man who had forced him to batter his own child. “Why did he develop this thing? What was his endgame?”

“Jenkins is refusing to talk, but Wally told us that Robin suspected–”

“I see the patient is awake,” a voice interrupted. They both turned to find Martian Manhunter framed in the doorway to the infirmary.

“Awake and coherent,” Bruce replied gruffly. “Let’s get these damn tests over with.”

“Always so polite,” Superman muttered, as J’onn moved over to join them.

Bruce ignored him and closed his eyes when Martian Manhunter put his hands on his head. He could feel the telepath probing inside his mind and resisted the instinctive urge to fight back. The sooner they could determine if he was cured, the sooner he could see Dick. 

Several minutes later, Martian Manhunter removed his hands. 

“Well?” Bruce demanded, eyes flying open.

“The virus’ DNA seems to have completely broken down and the chemical structure of your brain appears to be returning to normal,” J’onn informed him. “However, to be certain, there is one more test I would like to perform.”

“Then do it!” Bruce barked, anxious to see Dick.

J’onn raised his hand towards the door and a plastic bag floated in from the outer cave. 

“What’s that?” asked Superman.

“Robin’s uniform,” Bruce answered, recognizing it. The lump in his throat grew. “J’onn wants to see if I still react to the scent.”

The Martian nodded in the affirmative and opened the bag. 

As J’onn held the crumpled uniform to his nose, Bruce inhaled deeply. A faint, coppery tang wafted through his nostrils and he almost gagged. Blood. He had done that. Made Robin bleed. Hit him hard enough to put him in critical condition.

“Take it away!” he spat after several seconds, unable to bear it any longer.

“No reaction,” said Superman in relief. “The antidote worked.”

Bruce couldn’t really bring himself to care. “Get me out of this bed. I want to see my son.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Wally?” Flash’s voice sounded behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” 

Wally didn’t move from where he was slumped in a chair beside Robin’s bed. His eyes were glued to the ventilator helping Robin breathe. The _whoosh_ of the machine sent shivers through him, but he didn’t care. The noise meant Robin was alive.

Flash tried again. “I thought you weren’t supposed to put any weight on that leg for a couple of days?” 

“I’m sitting down.”

“Yes, but how did you get from your room to here?” he demanded, exasperation lacing his tone.

“Crutches.” 

“Wally–”

“Go away,” said Wally in a flat voice. He wasn’t in the mood for either a lecture or words of concern.

Several minutes of silence followed before Flash spoke again. “If I shut up, can I stay?”

The teenager shrugged. He didn’t really care so long as he didn’t have to expend energy on anything other than watching the ventilator. 

Ever since Wally had regained consciousness and discovered that Robin was critical, he hadn’t felt able to deal with other people; his nerves were just too shattered. Sure, he’d had to recount the full tale of what had happened with Batman and the rage virus to Superman, but after that, any questions from concerned Leaguers had been met with monosyllabic answers. Conversation seemed pointless when Robin was fighting for his life.

Wally hadn’t been allowed to see him at first; Black Canary had insisted that they both needed to rest after surgery. Wally had begged and pleaded, but to no avail. Black Canary was standing firm on the whole _you’re-not-leaving-this-bed_ thing. It didn’t help that Dr. Mid-Nite had agreed with her when he arrived to check on Wally’s progress, forbidding him from putting any weight on his injured leg.

But Wally couldn’t just lie there when he knew Robin’s life was hanging on by a thread. As soon as Black Canary left to organize food for his hypermetabolism, he had slipped out of bed, grabbed a pair of crutches and gone looking for his friend. 

It hadn’t taken long to locate Robin, but, despite knowing he was critical, his condition still came as a terrible shock to Wally. He hadn’t been prepared. Not for this. Surrounded by a frightening array of machines, tubes and wires, Robin seemed impossibly frail. He was chalk white with dark bruises standing out starkly against the pallor of his skin, the worst of which was the huge ring of livid, purple fingerprints encircling his neck. A chest tube trailed out from beneath the paper gown he was wearing, frightening Wally, but it was the ventilator that freaked him most of all; the machine made it look as though Robin was dying.

Realizing how close Robin had come to death shook Wally to his very core, and he had refused to budge from the room after that. Dr. Mid-Nite had ordered him back to bed, Black Canary had threatened him – even M’gann had been enlisted to entice him out of the room, but without success. Wally wasn’t moving. Not until he knew Robin would be okay.

He glanced at Robin’s battered face and wished with all his heart that his friend would open his eyes. He knew it was irrational – Robin was heavily sedated – but he couldn’t help it; Wally had never wanted to hear another person’s voice so badly in all his life. Part of him wanted to hold Robin’s hand for support, like they did in the movies, but aside from it being just the teensiest bit gay, Wally was too afraid to touch him. Robin looked like he might shatter if someone so much as breathed on him.

So Wally stayed very still. Watching. Useless. Just like he had been at the factory.

“I should have done more,” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

A hand rested on his shoulder. “You did everything you could. Robin would be dead without your help.”

“Some help.” Wally swallowed. God, this _hurt._ If this was what potentially losing someone felt like, then Wally never wanted to experience what it actually felt like. He hunched in on himself. Robin had to pull through. He just had to.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. “Wally, you can’t blame yourself.”

“But I do!” he ground out. Wally was struggling to come to terms with his actions in Gotham. How could he have just left Robin to Batman’s mercy when he could barely breathe? “You don’t understand; I _left_ him! I walked away when he was hurt! How– how could I do that?” 

“You didn’t just–”

“I did!” Wally insisted, lurching to his feet and immediately stumbling. He grabbed the back of the chair to remain standing. “I walked away, Uncle Barry, I walked away to get those stupid syringes! And for what? It didn’t even work!”

“Yes, it did,” a deep voice interjected unexpectedly.

Wally practically shoved his uncle out of the way to get a look at the doorway. Batman stood there, his eyes locked on Wally. Horror shivered through him and he gasped, shifting into a defensive posture in front of Robin. 

Flash put a hand on his arm. “Relax, Wally, it’s okay. He’s cured.” 

“Cured,” Wally repeated.

Flash nodded and gave him a smile that Wally guessed was supposed to be reassuring, but which only served to infuriate him. Batman was cured so everything was okay? They were just supposed to forget everything that had happened? Forget what Batman had done?

Screw that.

Grabbing his crutches, Wally hobbled over to Batman. “You don’t deserve to be here,” he hissed. “Get. OUT!”

“ _Wally!_ ” said his uncle, shocked. 

But Wally didn’t care. The rational voice in his head arguing that Batman hadn’t been in control of his actions was being drowned out by the outraged realization that the man’s face looked the same as it always did; emotionless. 

Wally was furious. Didn’t Batman care about what he had done to Robin? Why was he just standing there like a plank of wood? “You almost killed him! Aren’t you going to say _anything_?”

“I’m sorry,” said Batman, his voice devoid of any sentiment.

Wally snorted. “Oh, yeah. You sound real _sorry!_ ”

The sudden, small whine that rumbled up from Batman’s throat brought him up short. Wally blinked. That wasn’t a typical Batman noise.

Tilting his head, Wally realized that his initial assessment of Batman was wrong; something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. The man looked no different than usual; his face had the same emotionless expression, his mouth was thinned into its usual grim line, and his jaw was tightened into its familiar hard set… 

And then it hit him. Batman’s posture was off. His shoulders were slumped and his head was bowed, giving his whole frame a dejected air. His fingers twitched intermittently while the aura of strength that he usually projected was gone. Understanding floored Wally. Batman’s detached, remote expression was merely a charade to mask how he was really feeling.

His animosity towards Batman lessened as Wally grappled with how he must be feeling. The Dark Knight had always maintained a strong ‘no kill’ policy, even for the most deranged of psychopaths. That he had almost killed his own son must be destroying him. Despite his anger, Wally couldn’t help but feel a little burst of pity for Batman.

He had been so focused on the Gothamite that Wally wasn’t aware of someone else speaking to him. It was only when he heard his name being called loudly that he caught sight of Superman standing directly behind Batman. He hadn’t noticed him before.

“I’m sorry – what?” said Wally, starting to feel slightly overwhelmed by everything.

“You should be in bed,” Superman told him. “You need to rest.”

Wally opened his mouth to argue, but Superman narrowed his eyes and shook his head, before indicating with his eyes towards Batman. Wally understood. It wasn’t that he needed to be in bed; it was that Superman didn’t want him here. Not for this. 

Batman’s gaze was now darting towards Robin, and the sporadic finger twitches had morphed into violent shakes. Wally knew the façade was starting to crumble and swallowed. Much as he wanted to stay with Robin, there was no way he wanted to witness this; Batman was on the knife edge of collapse. 

The idea of the Dark Knight breaking down in front of him scared Wally almost as much as a rage-infected Batman.

“Can I come back later?” he asked, afraid that once they got him out of the room, he wouldn’t be allowed back in.

Superman nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll wheel you here myself,” Flash offered. “You’re not supposed to be on that leg, kiddo.”

Wally refrained from rolling his eyes. Right now, he didn’t care about his leg. No longer able to look at Batman – who was now moving towards Robin – Wally glanced at Superman, who looked at him sadly. 

“You did good, Wally,” he said softly, one massive hand patting Wally’s shoulder. It always amazed Wally that the Man of Steel could be so gentle. “No matter what happens, remember that.”

Wally was almost out the door before he understood the real meaning behind Superman’s words: _don’t blame yourself if Robin dies._

Stricken, he turned back just in time to see the broken figure of Batman freeze beside Robin’s bed. The man’s broad shoulders were trembling.

“Let’s go, Wally,” said his uncle quietly, one hand on his shoulder gently but insistently propelling him the rest of the way out of the room.

Feeling like his heart might break, Wally complied.

oOo

“Recognized, Batman, 02,” the automated female voice rang in Batman’s head, tearing him from his troubled thoughts.

He looked up as he materialized at Mount Justice, the familiar pins and needles sensation tingling through him while the training floor came into view. Despite the three figures standing there, the cave was deathly silent. Three sets of eyes were turned on him accusingly.

Behind him, he could hear the system announcing Superman’s arrival and turned. He didn’t think he could stand to see the looks on the faces of the team. He was already having enough trouble dealing with his own emotions.

“Are you ready?” asked Superman.

Batman nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It was taking everything he had to hold it together. His heart was pounding, and something akin to fear – an emotion he hadn’t felt in years – shivered through him.

As he and Superman swept towards the Medical Bay, the silent stares of Aqualad, Superboy and Miss Martian followed them. Batman closed his eyes. Their somewhat horrified expressions paled in comparison to his own feelings towards himself; utter disgust and loathing.

Batman didn’t care that a rage virus had forced him to lash out. As far as he was concerned, it was no excuse for beating two teenagers. For almost killing his own son.

Pain jack-knifed across his chest and he gritted his teeth to trap the moan of anguish that threatened to escape. It was devastating to think he had turned on his own child so savagely. Hatred rose like bile in his throat. How could he have done this? _How?_

“He’s just in here,” said Superman, as they neared one of the larger medical rooms.

Someone was speaking loudly and frantically from inside the room. “…don’t understand; I left him! I walked away when he was hurt! How– how could I do that?”  
Batman frowned. That was Kid Flash’s voice. He sounded both desperate and scared.

Barry Allen’s gentle tones floated back in response. “You didn’t just–” 

Batman arrived in the doorway just in time to see Kid Flash jump to his feet as he yelled, “I did!” He staggered and grabbed the back of the chair for support while facing the Flash with an agonized expression on his face. “I walked away, Uncle Barry, I walked away to get those stupid syringes! And for what? It didn’t even work!”

Reading between the lines of what little Superman had told him, Batman knew that Kid Flash was the reason Dick was still alive. He couldn’t let the boy blame himself for this. “Yes, it did.”

Speech caused some of his guilt to leech out and Batman sagged, the weight of his grief almost crippling him.

Kid Flash jolted his uncle out of the way and turned his attention to the doorway. Batman saw shock, horror and anger rage across his features before he moved awkwardly into a defensive position in front of the bed, blocking Dick from view.

Flash put a hand on his arm. “Relax, Wally, it’s okay. He’s cured.” 

Kid Flash barely looked at him. “Cured.”

Flash nodded and smiled, but instead of calming the younger speedster, it only served to antagonize him. He snatched the crutches propped against the chair and came towards Batman, something indescribable on his face.

It caused Batman actual, physical pain to see that both of the teenager’s eyes were black – the result of a broken nose – and his jaw was swollen and purple. His lip had been stitched, while his neck bore traces of bruising that looked suspiciously like strangulation marks. He sucked in a breath. Had he really done that?

“You don’t deserve to be here,” Kid Flash practically spat at him. “Get. OUT!”

A knife twisted in his heart. Kid Flash was right; he didn’t deserve to be here. Pain and an all-consuming guilt wrapped around his insides and squeezed hard. 

“ _Wally!_ ” cried Flash, as Batman felt his composure start to crack. 

Kid Flash ignored him. “You almost killed him! Aren’t you going to say _anything_?”

“I’m sorry,” Batman managed to get out past the lump in his throat. His grief was choking him. 

Kid Flash snorted. “Oh, yeah. You sound real _sorry!_ ”

Some of the pain knotting up his insides crawled up his throat and spilled out in a low moan. He would gladly give his own life if it meant Dick would be okay.

The noise made Kid Flash blink, then stare at him in shock. Batman saw him tilt his head and knew he was trying to work out what was going on beneath the cowl. He kept his jaw pulled tight in an effort to maintain control, but could feel his fingers start to tremble. His mask was slipping and Batman found that he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered now was Dick. 

Kid Flash’s face softened and Batman saw something resembling pity flash in his eyes. It made him want to look away. Pity was worse than anger. He didn’t deserve pity.

From behind him, Superman addressed Kid Flash. “Wally, you should be in bed…Wally.”

It was obvious that Wally hadn’t noticed the Kryptonian until he spoke because he gave a little start. “I’m sorry – what?”

“You should be in bed,” Superman repeated. “You need to rest.”

Batman tuned out the rest of their conversation. It wasn’t relevant. There was only one thing that mattered to him now.

His eyes strayed towards the bed, but all he could see were the machines surrounding it. Both Flashes were blocking his view of Dick but he could hear the _whoosh_ of a ventilator and the steady _beep beep_ of a heart monitor. 

The most wretched sense of longing overcame him and, oblivious to the voices around him, he moved towards the bed. Dick’s small frame came into view, and Batman’s world tilted when he saw what he had done. Dick’s whole face was a mass of dark, angry bruises, the worst of which was splayed across his left cheekbone and eye. Swollen to twice their usual size, several sections of the cloying purple showed the clearly defined outline of a fist. His fist. 

For a moment, it felt like he couldn’t breathe and, instinctively, he reached towards Dick before snatching his hand back at the last second, too afraid to touch him. His eyes continued to assess his son and a crescendo of horror started to build within him as the other injuries registered in his shocked brain: the large, inflamed cut scissoring across his left cheekbone covered in jagged stitches, the thick bandage circling his head in a band of white, the enormous black bruises covering his arms, the large cast framing his right hand and wrist, the chest tube helping to drain his lungs of fluid...

And then he saw Dick’s neck: massive, dark bruises circled his throat, fingerprints visible within the bruising.

Sharp pain exploded in his chest and he staggered, clutching at his heart.

“Bruce?”

Batman turned slowly to find Superman standing beside him, looking at him in concern. Both Flashes were gone. “Clark,” he choked in anguish. “What have I done?!”

“Bruce, you couldn’t help this–”

“Couldn’t help it?” Batman repeated harshly. “Like that even matters! Clark, _look_ at him! Oh, God, Dickie…” The words ended in a plaintive low moan, and Batman bent over his son, running his fingers through the dark strands of hair. It took several minutes before he was able to speak again, and when he did, his voice was shaking. “How bad are his injuries?” 

“Bruce–”

“Goddammit, Clark! Don’t ‘Bruce’ me! Not about this. How bad is he?” The masochist in him needed to know what Dick’s chances were.

Clark gave him a pitying look and then turned his gaze to the unconscious boy. “There was severe damage to the ribs, enough to cause a flail chest. Part of the broken segment punctured a lung and it collapsed, bleeding into the pericardium. Dr. Mid-Nite operated to repair most of the damage, but a few hours later the pulmonary contusions led to a tension pneumothorax and Dick needed more surgery. Dr. Mid-Nite intubated him with a double-lumen tracheal tube after that, and he’s been meticulously adjusting the ventilator settings ever since to avoid pulmonary barotrauma. But he wasn’t happy about the endotracheal intubation because Dick has a crushed larynx and he’s concerned about further iatrogenic injury, or possible loss of a marginal airway.”

Batman’s head reeled as he took in what Clark was telling him. Based on the chest injuries alone, Dick was frighteningly weak. “What about the bandage on his head? Is…is there a head injury?” The possibility of brain damage terrified him. He could see it in Dick’s bruised face just how hard he had hit him.

“Concussion…but Dr. Mid-Nite isn’t concerned about that so you shouldn’t be either,” Clark added quickly in a soothing tone.

Superman’s conciliation was pointless. There was nothing he could say that would assuage Batman’s guilt or frantic worry. His eyes went back to Dick’s neck and something Clark had said registered with him. “Crushed larynx?” he whispered. 

Clark refused to look at him as he nodded.

The shattering pain in his heart made him want to rip it out of his chest. He had strangled his own son so brutally that he had crushed his larynx. _I’m sorry, Dick, I’m so sorry. Oh, God_ …

Batman literally couldn’t bear the thought of what he had done. He couldn’t imagine a worse torture than this; to have beaten his own son so savagely was tearing him apart. For the hundredth time since he had regained consciousness, Batman questioned how he could have done this. Rage virus or not, how could he have turned on the most important person in the world to him?

And then a horrifying thought doused him in cold terror; what if he lost him?

Something resembling a sob was wrenched from his throat and he could feel his shoulders shaking. He hadn’t felt pain like this since his parents’ deaths, and the grief was ripping him to shreds. His heart was bleeding out into his chest, making it impossible to draw breath. 

A hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. For the first time in his life, Batman didn’t care who saw him vulnerable. His fingers fumbled for Dick’s uninjured hand and he grasped it tightly, aware of how small it was beneath his own.


	10. Chapter 10

Bruce’s hands were clasped tightly in front of his mouth, elbows resting on his knees as he hunched forward in his chair. Dr. Mid-Nite had taken Dick off the ventilator that morning, negating the need to keep sedating him, but it was now late evening and Dick had yet to regain full consciousness. He had come close a few times, fretful and delirious from pain, while mumbling in his semiconscious state. 

For Bruce, it was an agonizing wait. He was so fixated on Dick that he was practically oblivious to his surroundings, including Leslie Thompkins on the other side of the bed. Harder to ignore was Wally, pacing noisily behind him. The teenager had developed the annoying habit of leaning over his shoulder every five minutes to check on Dick, and it was getting more than a little wearing. 

Bruce scowled. Wally should count himself lucky that he understood his anxiety, otherwise the teenager would have found himself in a rather precarious situation. The Gothamite was not the most tolerant of people at the best of times, and the strain of taking Dick off the ventilator had shredded his patience. It had been a difficult process, fraught with complications, and Dr. Mid-Nite had spent the better part of the last two days slowly weaning Dick from the machine because the first attempt to remove it four days ago had been disastrous. The boy had been too weak to carry the respiratory load: his blood pressure had dropped dramatically and he’d gone into immediate respiratory failure. Within seconds, he’d been in full cardiac arrest. 

It had been one of the worst moments of Bruce’s life; one minute he was watching Dr. Mid-Nite remove the tube, the next he was witnessing his son die before his eyes. It had frightened him more than any psychopath had ever done, and he’d been unwilling to remove the ventilator after that. But Dr. Mid-Nite was determined; he was concerned about ventilator-associated pneumonia, and insisted that the sooner Dick was weaned from the ventilator, the better it would be for his recovery. Leslie Thompkins had agreed with that prognosis, and so Bruce had reluctantly conceded to let them try again. Dr. Mid-Nite had waited two days before starting Dick on pressure support breathing to wean him off of the ventilator. After forty-eight hours of pressure support, the boy had finally been able to breathe by himself.

Bruce was relieved that Dick was finally on the road to recovery, but his happiness was tainted by the fact that, without the oblivion of sedation, Dick would be in a lot of pain when he woke up. Despite the strong analgesics he was on, the nature of his injuries meant there was no way around it. 

Bruce was having a hard time deciding which was worse; watching a machine breathe for his son, or watching his son in pain. Pain that he had inflicted. He reached towards Dick’s injured hand and gently stroked the fingers protruding from the cast. He had seen the x-rays of the decimated wrist and it sickened him to imagine the amount of violent force such a break would have required. It caused him actual physical pain whenever he thought about how excruciating it must have been for Dick.

Something twisted in his chest and his mouth pulled into a tight line. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this wretched. The guilt of beating his own child half to death was crushing him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been in control of his actions, or that he couldn’t remember it: nothing compared to the grief and horror of almost killing his own son. At least when his parents had been murdered, he wasn’t the one who’d pulled the trigger. But he was responsible for this and there was no forgetting that. No matter how much he gouged at his brain.

Suddenly, Dick’s fingers twitched beneath his and Bruce was on his feet in a flash. “Dick?”

His fingers twitched again and a low, distressed sound emanated from the back of the boy’s throat.

“C’mon, buddy, open your eyes,” Bruce encouraged, still stroking Dick’s fingers.

And then Wally was pushing up close beside him, leaning over the bed. “Ishewakingup? Ishealright? Rob, dude, can you hear me?”

“Easy,” Leslie reminded the excited teenager gently. “Give him a chance.”

Looking abashed, Wally took a step back, while Bruce reigned in his own enthusiasm. Leslie was right. This would be painful, and possibly traumatizing for Dick; the last thing he needed was for them to overwhelm him.

The billionaire patted his own head quickly to make sure his cowl was still pulled back. He didn’t want Batman to be the first thing Dick saw when he opened his eyes. A sharp pang of anxiety shivered through him – he was nervous about how his son would respond to him.

Dick’s eyes were now moving frantically behind closed lids and Bruce could tell he was struggling to open them. “Atta, boy,” he murmured, running his fingers through the dark hair. “You can do it.”

Dick gave a low moan and his chest hitched. The heart monitor sped up slightly. 

“It’s okay,” said Bruce soothingly. “Just relax, buddy, it’s me.”

Dick’s nostrils flared and he mumbled unintelligibly, before his eyes fluttered open. When his gaze landed on Bruce, his face twisted in fright and several frantic little whimpers trembled out between his lips.

Bruce’s world dissolved. “Oh, kiddo,” he choked out, his voice thick. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Wanting to reassure him, Bruce reached for Dick’s hand but the boy reacted with fear, yanking his hand away and jerking sideways in the bed. His eyes were wide and his breathing was agitated. The heart monitor was racing. 

“Dickie, please…it’s me,” Bruce whispered, not caring that Wally and Leslie were in the room.

Still struggling with the effects of heavy sedation, Dick didn’t seem to fully comprehend what was happening. Combined with intense pain and a concussion, the stupefying effect of residual anesthesia was scrambling his sense of awareness. Bruce could see the disorientation in his swollen, clouded eyes.

Breathing hard, Dick scrabbled at the bed’s railings, pulling himself half-upright and gasping under the strain it caused, until Leslie moved forward and gently guided him back to a horizontal position. “Dick, sweetheart, it’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.” 

He stared up at her with glazed eyes, looking confused, frightened and almost like he was going to cry – something Bruce hadn’t seen him do since he was ten-years-old.

_He’s only thirteen,_ a little voice whispered at the back of Bruce’s head.

He swallowed. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how young Dick was because of what he did as Robin. But seeing him like this reminded Bruce that he was just a child. A child who was hurt, and in pain, and scared of the parent who had lashed out and beaten him. 

The enormity of that fact hit him. Dick was terrified. Of him.

His head reeled. For the first time in his life, Bruce didn’t know what to do. A week of sitting by Dick’s bed and preparing for this moment, and he still didn’t have a clue. What do you say to the son you almost killed?

Shaking his head, Bruce backed up. He needed to get out of here. His presence was only agitating Dick and he had no idea how to fix it. He wasn’t even sure of his own feelings; grief, anger, pain, sadness, desperation and helplessness were raging through him, but he couldn’t distinguish one from another. How could he possibly help Dick when he didn’t know how to help himself? His senses overloaded and he backed up further.

“Uh, Mr. Wayne?” A hand tapped at his arm and a pair of bruised eyes looked up at him in uncertainty. Wally. 

“Are you alright?” the teenager asked, tilting his head.

Bruce shook his head. No. No, he wasn’t. It felt like nothing was ever going to be alright again. He looked towards the bed where Leslie had paused in the midst of trying to soothe Dick. Their eyes met.

“Bruce, don’t you dare!” she hissed.

He turned and fled the room.

oOo

“Master Bruce?”

Alfred’s voice sounded behind him, but Bruce never turned from the files he was searching furiously on the computer. “He’s afraid of me, Alfred. Terrified. My own son.”

If the older man felt any surprise at this outburst, he didn’t show it. “Master Dick has been through a very traumatizing ordeal; it’s only natural that he would feel some fear. Given that he spent almost a week under sedation, are you really surprised that he gave into that fear?”

Bruce sighed, his heart heavy. “No.”

The butler came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dare I suggest, sir, that perhaps your own reaction is what’s troubling you?”

“You know me so well, Alfred, don’t you?”

The Englishman sniffed. “Given that I raised you, I should certainly hope so.”

Bruce had to smile at that.

Alfred removed his hand. “What troubles you more, that you can’t identify your feelings, or that you don’t know how to fix them?”

“Both.”

“I see.” He paused. “Master Bruce, has it occurred to you that Master Dick is not the only one who has been through a traumatizing experience?”

Bruce stopped typing and looked up. “But Wally is– You’re not talking about Wally, are you?”

The butler shook his head. “Dr. Thompkins believes you are suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress.”

“Alfred, how can I be traumatized by something I don’t even remember? That’s insane!”

“What’s insane is a grown man brooding in a dark cave whilst his son is injured and frightened in a hospital bed!” Alfred rejoined severely. “Master Bruce, I know you love that boy, and I know that you’ve suffered the most hellish of torments over the last week watching him fight to stay alive. That you would sit here now when he needs you most is astounding.”

“I…I can’t face him, Alfred,” Bruce whispered.

The butler raised a displeased eyebrow. “I have never taken you for a coward.”

“No, I don’t mean– You don’t understand.”

“Then enlighten me, sir.”

Bruce rubbed his exhausted eyes. “I hurt him, Alfred. I couldn’t protect him from myself. I owe it to Dick to find the man responsible…I can’t face him until I’ve done that.”

“Mr. Jenkins is in prison,” Alfred reminded him.

“Jenkins was just the puppet,” Bruce muttered darkly. He was still irked that he wouldn’t get the chance to teach the scientist a lesson. “I need to find the puppet master.”

“I’m sure that search can wait until Master Dick has recovered somewhat. Or Mr. Kent could conduct it. He is more than capable, despite your proclamations.”

“This is something I have to do myself.”

“You have never been one for penance before.”

“I never turned on my own child before!” Bruce bit out savagely. “Sorry,” he added, as Alfred raised both eyebrows in disapproval. 

“Master Bruce, sitting here allowing your guilt to consume you will do nothing to repair the damage done to your relationship with Master Dick. His needs should come before any guilt that you yourself are feeling.”

“I’m doing this for him!”

“With all due respect, sir, you are doing this for yourself. Your desire for vengeance and your need to assuage your own guilt are blinding you to where you truly need to be.”

Bruce didn’t respond. Part of him knew Alfred was right, but the other part just wasn’t ready to face Dick yet. He needed to do something to ease the terrible burden of guilt before he could be there completely for his son. He was so afraid of the damage and hurt he had already caused, Bruce just couldn’t bear the thought of adding to it.

After several minutes of silence, Alfred sighed. “It’s your call, sir, you always were better at action than emotion. I just hope you know what it is you are doing.”

Bruce closed his eyes. He hoped he did too.

oOo

Darkness cloaking him from sight, Batman watched through a set of balcony doors that led into an opulent office, where an immaculately dressed man was giving orders to his secretary. The man’s air of arrogance was palpable even from the other side of the glass, and the Dark Knight felt his lips pull across his teeth in a snarl. Instinct screamed at him to get in there and beat the man senseless, to wipe that obnoxious smirk off his face, but he controlled himself. That would achieve nothing other than to put himself at odds with the police, and this man already had an advantage over him. Batman wasn’t handing him another.

Almost a week after his arrest and Andrew Jenkins was remaining tight-lipped in his prison cell. A visit from Superman the day after his incarceration had been enough to frighten him into revealing the location of the warehouse where he had stored the crates that Batman and Robin had seen in the slaughterhouse, but not enough to name the person who had hired him to develop the rage virus. The paper trail for the warehouse and the expensive equipment in Jenkins’ lab had ended in dummy accounts and corporations, leaving the police at a loss as to who had hired Jenkins. Given the virus’ potential for terrorism, the FBI and Homeland Security had also gotten involved, but uncovered nothing new.

It had taken Batman twelve hours of intensive searching and backtracking through the various dummy accounts and corporations before he had discovered an obscure connection to a company in France. From there he had found a link to a small subsidiary company in the UK, but came up blank when he tried to trace the parent company. That had been his first clue. Someone had gone to a massive amount of trouble to hide their connection to Jenkins and the rage virus, which meant they were not only corporate and technologically savvy, they were also keen to remain anonymous. And while most criminals tried to avoid getting caught, rarely did they go to such lengths. That suggested the person who’d hired Jenkins had more to lose than the average criminal. Not to mention that the money required to fund Jenkins’ research indicated that the person was enormously wealthy. The list of potential suspects narrowed considerably, Batman looked at motive: who would want a virus like this? 

From what both Superman and Kid Flash had told him, it sounded like Jenkins had needed to ensure his virus wouldn’t be restricted by feelings of affection – hence testing it on two brothers – which meant its purpose went beyond murder or terrorism. The virus had a specific goal, but what?

While methodically considering every possible scenario the virus could be used for, a very troubling one had arisen; someone needed to destroy another person but was unable to do so using conventional means. And the only people immune to conventional means were people like Superman. If someone wanted to destroy him, or any League member for that matter, they would find it virtually impossible to do so.

Unless they found a way to have the entire Justice League take each other out. What better way to destroy a bunch of superheroes than with each other?

Once Batman realized that the endgame was to have the Justice League destroy each other, it was very easy to work out who was behind the virus. There was only one person in the world with that much money, business acumen and international connections who wanted to destroy the Justice League: Lex Luthor.

Batman scowled as he watched the billionaire hand several files to his secretary. The only proof he had that Luthor was behind the virus was his own logic; he had no evidence to connect him to Jenkins. But that didn’t mean he was going to let the man get away with it.

His secretary left the office and Luthor crossed to the mahogany drinks cabinet on the other side of the room. While his back was to the balcony, Batman used the opportunity to enter and silently move behind him

Luthor turned and jumped at the unexpected sight of the Dark Knight standing inches away from him, spilling cognac over his fingers. “Batman,” he greeted him, shaking droplets off of his hand. “You know, civilized people call first.”

“I know about you and Andrew Jenkins,” Batman growled without preamble, ignoring the man’s attempt to get under his skin.

Luthor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who?”

“The scientist you hired to create a rage virus, with which you planned to destroy the Justice League.”

Luthor gave an amused smile. “My word, Batman, I’d heard you were paranoid, but isn’t that a little much?”

“Spare the act, Luthor. I may not be able to prove it, but I know I’m right. We both know I can’t touch you; you’ve covered your tracks too well. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Luthor sipped at his brandy, arrogance oozing from every pore.

“Those crates that Commissioner Gordon’s men removed from the warehouse? No longer in storage at Gotham PD. The Justice League acquired them, along with all of Jenkins’ notes, several hours ago. Those officers you had someone pay off – since I doubt you got your hands dirty – to ‘lose’ the evidence? They’re watching over nothing more than vials of coloured water. And Jenkins’ hard-drive has been decimated by a computer virus. Ironic, wouldn’t you say?”

Luthor no longer looked cocksure and confident, he looked frustrated – something he tried to hide by giving a glib hand wave. “Batman, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me break it down for you. That virus is out of your reach, Luthor, I’ve made sure of that. And from now on, I’ll be watching your _every_ move. You think it was bad having Superman watching you? He may as well be a blind two-year-old compared to me. I will make it my personal mission to destroy you.”

“Batman, please, do you really think you can do worse than the Man of Steel himself?” Luthor laughed.

“I know I can. Using your competitors, I can ruin any plan before you’ve even made it. That merger LexCorp were negotiating with Kyosho Nuclear Power? Kord Industries just sealed the deal. That lucrative little diamond mine in Russia you’ve been hoping to purchase? Queen Industries outbid you an hour ago. That contract LexCorp have been trying to win from S.T.A.R labs? Waynetech signed on the dotted line thirty minutes ago. And your security system is about to suffer from a very serious error.”

As Batman finished speaking, an alarm started to blare. Luthor jerked and looked upwards, before returning his glare to Batman. “What have you done?”

“Warmed up. That all took me one hour, Luthor. Care to imagine what I can get done in a whole day?”

The man stared at him, red-faced and speechless with anger.

Batman loomed over the billionaire. “Make no mistake, Luthor, I’m just getting started. And by the time I’m finished, you’ll wish you’d never even heard of the name Andrew Jenkins.”

“Your threats don’t scare me,” Luthor bluffed.

“They will soon.”

Turning on his heel, Batman swept back onto the balcony, removed his grapple gun and took off into the night. It had been a singularly unsatisfying experience to challenge Luthor; physical pain would have been _far_ more gratifying. But that would have been playing into his hands. Besides, to a man like Luthor, power was everything, and taking it away was the only way to hurt him. It wasn’t justice, but for now, Batman would have to settle for that.

Emptiness dragged at him as he swung through the city of Metropolis and he scowled. Facing Luthor had done nothing to assuage his guilt. In fact, it had only aggravated it; he hadn’t been able to give vent to his anger and Luthor had gotten away with his part in the creation of the damn virus, heaping an uncomfortable serving of frustration onto his already piled plate of unpalatable emotion. Worst of all, Batman had spent hours away from the one person whose side he should never have left, and it had all been for nothing. Because no matter what he did, he would never be able to change what he had done to his son.

Reaching the rooftop where he had left the Batplane, the cold hands of sorrow squeezed at his heart. He was responsible for so much pain and hurt, how could he ever expect Dick to forgive him? Especially when he knew he would never be able to forgive himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Somewhere in the sea of inky blackness, Dick could feel himself floating back to consciousness. But the only thing he was aware of with any sort of clarity was that he hurt. Everywhere. Pain stabbed at him with frightening intensity.

Broken images drifted on the periphery of his fragmented mind and Dick reached for them, but they floated away before he could even decipher what they were. He wondered vaguely where he was.

Snatches of speech permeated the dark fog clinging to his consciousness. “…okay? Please…something...” 

Dick latched onto it. He knew that voice; it was familiar and made him feel safe. And for some reason that he didn’t understand, he really wanted to feel safe.  
He tried to respond to the voice, but long spikes of pain splintered his lungs, and Dick allowed himself a small whine. Crap. That _hurt._

The voice was getting louder now, and was accompanied by the irritating sound of beeping. The blackness surrounding him started to dissipate and Dick could smell a strange combination of disinfectant and…peanut butter?

The darkness dissolved into light, and a blurry shape moved in front of him. Dick blinked several times until a pair of green eyes came into view. Someone was babbling, and it registered with him that the familiar voice belonged to those green eyes. His brain grasped for a name. “Wal-ly?” he managed, lips sticking as he spoke. His mouth was parched. 

Green eyes widened. “ _Finally!_ Dude, how do you feel?”

“Uh…” He needed something. Dick’s mind searched for the word. “Wa-ter?” 

The green eyes practically turned into saucers before disappearing. Seconds later they reappeared and Dick felt something against his lips. A straw. The contracting motion of sipping from the straw hurt his chest, but the cool liquid felt wonderful against his raw throat. He managed a few sips before his head sank further into the pillow – even such a small movement had left him feeling exhausted. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. Confusion niggled at him. Wally was here. Nothing strange about that, he was his best friend. So why did Dick feel like Wally wasn’t supposed to be here?

_Because he shouldn’t be. Batman killed him._

Dick’s eyes shot open. “You’re alive,” he whispered, eyes huge as he stared at Wally. He didn’t understand. He distinctly remembered watching Batman kill Wally.

“ _I’m_ alive?” Wally choked. “Dude…” 

Before Dick could blink, Wally was hugging him tightly. The movement sent pain shuddering through him and he cried out sharply.

Wally drew back at once. “OhmygodRobImsosorryareyouokay?!”

He looked frantic. Dick wanted to reassure him, but it was taking everything he had just to deal with the pain lancing viciously across his chest. Oh God, why did it have to hurt so _much?_

The corners of his eyes watered and he scrunched them shut. Dick was used to pain – being Batman’s partner had given him more than enough experience in that area – but he had never experienced anything like this before. Raw agony rubbed at every nerve in his chest. He moaned while Wally continued to babble.

“ImsosorryIjustforgot!DidIhurtyou? Dude, please tell me you’re okay!”

“Wally…s’fine,” Dick managed to gasp out eventually. He opened his eyes and the tortured expression on his friend’s face stabbed at him. That look didn’t belong there. Memories of what had happened were flitting back to him now; Batman had been infected with rage and Wally had risked everything to help save him. Then Dick remembered that the antidote hadn’t worked.

“Batman…” he ground out, as lingering tendrils of pain squeezed hard. “Where…?”

His hands still flapping, Wally shook his head. “I don’t know– he’s okay!” he added quickly, as Dick inhaled in panic, almost choking on the reflexive action. “He’s cured. We just don’t know where he is. He took off after you freaked out at him.”

“I…what?” 

“You know, the first time you woke up.” 

Dick stared at him.

“Don’t…don’t you remember?” Wally asked uncertainly, his hand gestures becoming less expansive. Dick shook his head, then winced at how that made the room tilt.

Wally shuffled uncomfortably, and it was only then that Dick noticed he was leaning heavily on a crutch. His eyes were shaded with ugly, fading purple bruises, and stitches were visible on his swollen lip. Dick swallowed. Those marks hurt him almost as much as his own injuries.

“You’ve been out of it for days,” Wally explained quietly. “And you only woke up a few hours ago. You didn’t react too well to Batman and he sort of…I dunno, lost it or something. He just left without saying a word.”

The pain cutting into him was clouding his mind, making it hard to think clearly. Dick had to work to understand Wally’s explanation. “Batman’s…okay?”

Wally nodded. “J’onn and Uncle Barry came up with a cure. He’s fine.” The teenager paused. “He’s fine physically anyway. I think– I think he’s having trouble dealing with what he did. You know, to you?” 

Dick nodded and tried to shove away the image of Batman looming over him, strangling him.

“He didn’t leave your side all week,” Wally continued. “Just sat there, watching you.” The speedster squirmed, looking uncomfortable. “It was kind of creepy actually, even for Batman.”

“Where is he now?” Dick was surprised by how weak his voice sounded; all thin and wispy.

“I don’t know.” Carefully, Wally sat on the edge of his bed. “Like I said, he took off right after you woke up and no one’s been able to reach him on his comm. I think Dr. Leslie might kill him when he comes back though.”

“You said I freaked out. Wally, what did I do?”

“You really don’t remember?”

Dick shook his head, feeling the room swim as he did so.

Wally sighed. “Well, you acted like– like you were scared of him. He had his cowl down and everything, but…well…you were kind of out of it. You know, from the drugs and all? I don’t think you got that he wasn’t going to hurt you. It wasn’t like you did anything bad; you just…freaked a little. Dr. Leslie had to sedate you again after Bruce took off.”

“He just…left?” Dick didn’t know whether to be hurt or relieved. Part of him wanted nothing more than to see his guardian and make sure he was okay, but another part of him quivered in fear at the idea of being within ten feet of Batman. The dilemma bothered Dick. Batman had been under the influence of the rage virus, he knew that – so why was he still afraid of him?

“Don’t blame him for taking off, Rob,” said Wally, fiddling with the bedclothes, not quite able to look at him. “It was a rough few days. We almost lost you twice.”  
Dick wasn’t sure how to react to the news that he’d almost died, but at least it explained why his body felt like it was half-dead. 

Wally touched his arm. “Dude, you know, it’s _really_ good to hear your voice.” 

The speedster’s own voice wobbled suspiciously as he spoke, and guilt stung at Dick when he realized what he had put Wally through. He had been so desperate to save Batman that he had sacrificed himself without giving any thought to how it would affect Wally – and clearly the trauma of watching Batman almost kill his best friend was hurting Wally terribly. Dick could see it in his pale, pinched face. 

“Wally,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.” The words felt totally insufficient for the hurt he had caused.

Wally stared at him blankly. “For what?”

A hard lump stuck in his throat. Typical Wally. Already he had forgiven and forgotten. Dick knew his friend could be immature, and a bit of a drama queen at times, but he didn’t think there was anyone else in the world as loyal or big-hearted. Wally had almost been killed in the effort to save Batman, and even though Dick didn’t know what had happened after he lost consciousness, he was certain that the only reason he was still alive was because of Wally. 

Something swelled in his chest and he was overcome by the sudden need to tell Wally how grateful he was for his help, and how lucky he was to have him for a friend, but the words stuck in his throat. Desperately, he grabbed Wally’s hand and squeezed it, trying to convey how he felt through touch. 

Wally looked surprised, but returned the squeeze and gave him a lopsided smile.

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispered again, fighting with himself to say what he really wanted. 

Wally patted his hand. “It’s cool, Rob. I get it. I know why you had to save him. After watching Bruce sit here for the last week, I think I understand you two a little better. You don’t need to apologize to me.”

“Yes, I do! Wally, what I did, the position I put you in...” Dick’s face burned in shame. “I was selfish, and I could have gotten you killed! Not to mention that me and Batman wouldn’t be here without your help – you saved us both.” Dick tightened his grip on Wally’s hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

Wally raised an eyebrow. “Dude, what’s with the Hallmark moment?” 

“I’m just trying to apologize for being a butthead and thank you for being an awesome best pal.” Dick cringed at how much like a child he sounded, but pain was making it hard to verbalize his thoughts.

Wally shrugged. “You’d have done the same for me.”

“In a heartbeat,” Dick told him softly. They smiled at each other and Dick released Wally’s hand so he could rub at his chest. “What happened at the factory after I passed out?” he asked, hoping the tale would divert him from the pain sawing into his torso.

“You really want to talk about that?” 

Wally didn’t sound too enthusiastic about the idea, but aside from wanting to know what happened, Dick _needed_ the distraction. He nodded and Wally sighed. “Okay.”

He started to talk. Dick listened with horror and admiration as Wally described how he had feigned unconsciousness in order to trick Batman into releasing him, how he had fought with Batman until the Justice League arrived, and what had happened in the aftermath of the League’s takedown of Batman. By the time he finished explaining why Jenkins’ chemical compounds hadn’t worked on Batman and how J’onn and Barry had synthesized the antidote, Dick was finding it difficult to concentrate. The pain in his chest was now unbearable and exhaustion was creeping in at the edges of his vision. Dick was pretty irritated by the latter; he’d just spent the better part of a week unconscious, how in the heck could he still be tired?

“Did Jenkins tell anyone why he created the virus?” he asked, trying to shift into a position that didn’t make him feel like he’d swallowed a bag of needles.

“No. Superman went to see him the day after…you know,” Wally gestured towards Dick’s injuries, “but the dude’s not talking. Arrogant creep.”

Dick knew he should be worried that they still didn’t know what the endgame was – not knowing meant the virus still posed a threat – but he was in too much pain to focus on that at the moment. “Wally, can you–”

“Dick, you’re awake,” a voice interrupted. They both glanced at the door to see Leslie Thompkins standing there. 

“Hi, Leslie,” Dick greeted her.

“How long have you been awake?” she asked, coming towards the bed.

“Um, I’m not sure.” 

“About an hour,” Wally supplied helpfully.

“An hour?! _Wally!_ ” she scolded. “I gave you specific instructions to fetch me the instant he regained consciousness!”

Wally looked sheepish. “Sorry, Doc, we started talking and I kinda forgot. But he’s okay – he remembers Gotham and everything.”

“His pain medication has also been dialed down to help his coherency in coming out of the sedation,” she pointed out in exasperation. 

“Is that why it hurts so much?” Dick blurted, before he could stop himself.

Leslie turned her attention to him. “Yes. I’m sorry, Dick, but I needed you clearheaded in order to get a handle on that head injury – I was concerned after how you reacted to Bruce. That’s also why I wanted to be here when you woke up–” she gave Wally an irate glare “– so I could give you something to help with the pain once I was certain you were lucid.” 

“I’m lucid!” said Dick desperately. “Honest!”

She gave him a sympathetic grimace. “I know, Dickie. Hang on and I’ll give you something.” Reaching into her coat pocket, she withdrew a syringe filled with clear liquid. Uncapping it, she injected it directly into his IV-line while Wally mumbled apologies from the other side of the bed. 

“Will it take long?” Dick asked, as a tingling, ice-cold sensation flowed up his arm. 

Leslie shook her head as she removed the syringe. “It’s morphine, so it should kick in pretty quick.”

“Morphine?”

Leslie gently swept the bangs out of his eyes. “Flail chest is a painful injury, sweetheart. It requires a potent analgesic.”

“Oh.” 

“I’m just going to elevate you slightly for comfort,” she told him, pressing the button on his bed in order to raise it up. The motion hurt like hell, but once it stopped at an almost sitting position, Dick was surprised to find that he was actually more comfortable; the upright position took some of the pressure off of his lungs.

“Better?” Leslie inquired, and he nodded.

“Other than your chest, how are you feeling?” She was looking at him in concern and Dick knew she wasn’t just talking about physically. 

“I’m okay.” He didn’t have the energy to talk about Bruce. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about his guardian, or even if he wanted to see him. Dick bit his lip. Those thoughts made him feel guilty; what happened wasn’t Bruce’s fault, so why was he blaming him? It was irrational!

Leslie cupped his chin and tilted it upwards. “Don’t worry, sweetie, it’ll all work out.”

Dick gave her a small smile. He hoped she was right.

oOo

Light filtered slowly through Dick’s eyelids. It took him a moment to realize that he had fallen asleep after the morphine had taken away the worst of his pain. A squeak to his left told him that someone – probably Wally – was sitting by his bed. Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, Dick sucked in a breath when the room came into focus and he realized it wasn’t Wally sitting by his bed.

It was Bruce.

Dick’s instinctive reaction was to panic. His heart thumped painfully against his chest and his whole body went rigid. What made it worse was that he could tell by the look on Bruce’s face that he knew exactly what was happening; the tell-tale increase of the heart monitor was a dead giveaway.

“Oh, kiddo, I’m not going to hurt you,” Bruce told him quietly, almost pleadingly.

“I know,” Dick whispered, trying to make his heart stop racing. This was ridiculous, what was _wrong_ with him?

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Dick took several deep breaths, forcing his heartbeat to return to normal. He stared unhappily at his guardian. He didn’t know what to do about this irrational fear. He knew Bruce would never hurt him – that stupid rage virus had been a one-off – so why couldn’t he make himself believe it?

Bruce’s eyes never left Dick’s face. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Any pain?”

“Not much. Leslie gave me something.”

“Good.” 

An awkward silence fell. Dick fiddled with his bed covers, uncomfortable under Bruce’s intense stare. Why was he staring so much? Couldn’t he look away? Oh God, what if the rage virus wasn’t really gone and Bruce was turning again?!

To his horror, he realized that the heart monitor had sped up once more, while Bruce looked as though someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. “Are you really that scared of me?” 

“No!” Dick hesitated, then looked away. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally.

Bruce leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. The vulnerability of the movement stunned Dick. “Bruce?” 

Bleary eyes rimmed with enormous dark circles came up to meet his. “You look like a tired panda,” Dick told him without thinking.

Bruce made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, God, Dickie, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

He sounded desperate and broken in a way Dick had never heard before, and it scared him. He studied his guardian, taking in how terrible he looked; his face haggard and pinched with stress, his jaw peppered with stubble. It was obvious that guilt for his actions was eating him alive. 

Despite his own fear, Dick’s first instinct was to reassure him. “It’s okay, Bruce. You couldn’t help it.” 

Bruce shook his head. “It’s not okay. I _attacked_ you! I nearly killed you.” His face twisted in anguish. “How can things ever be okay again?”

His words sent a cold shiver through Dick. The thought that things would never be the same between him and Bruce, that there would always be this strained silence, this uncertainty and dread between them, frightened him even more than the clinging tendrils of residual fear left by Batman’s rage. 

_I need Bruce,_ Dick realized, remembering why he had fought so hard to save him. Bruce was his father, the person he trusted most, who made him feel safest…how could Dick allow one – albeit very terrifying – incident that Bruce had zero control over to destroy all of that?

 _He didn’t leave your side all week,_ Wally’s voice rang unexpectedly in his head. _Just sat there, watching you._

And suddenly Dick understood: Bruce needed him every bit as much as he needed Bruce – they just didn’t work without each other. Dick couldn’t bear the thought of things changing irrevocably between them. “Bruce…” his voice wobbled. “Please don’t say that.”

The pain on Bruce’s face morphed into confusion. “Say what?”

“That things won’t be okay. They have to be okay.”

“Oh, kiddo…” Bruce reached for his hand and Dick resisted the urge to flinch. “If only you knew how much I…if I could just…” He swallowed and his voice dropped to a choked whisper. “Dick, I’m _sorry_.” 

Dick curled his fingers around the hand clutching his, and immediately felt the hand tighten. Before he could process what was happening, Bruce had gotten to his feet and enveloped him in a careful hug, all without ever letting go of the hand he was clinging to.

Dick stiffened for the briefest of seconds until a familiar woody scent washed over him, making him feel warm and safe. This was the Bruce he knew and loved, the man who cared about him and who would never in a million years hurt him. The tension and fear drained away and Dick buried his face in his guardian’s shoulder while something resembling a sob was wrenched from his throat.

“I’ll never hurt you again,” Bruce whispered into his hair. “I promise.”

Dick nodded. Bruce wouldn’t have hurt him in the first place if it hadn’t been for that stupid virus, something his subconscious finally seemed to comprehend. Physically unable to return the hug, Dick clutched tighter at the hand holding his. 

It was several minutes before Bruce pulled back. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his left hand still clinging to Dick’s good one, he reached forward with his right and swept the bangs out of Dick’s eyes. “Dick, I need you to promise me something. If anything ever happens to me again – no matter what it is – you are not to sacrifice yourself to save me.”

Dick’s eyes widened and he released Bruce’s hand. “You can’t ask me to promise that! It isn’t fair!”

“I think it is,” said Bruce quietly. “And I think Wally would agree with me. Dick, you nearly died! Do you know what that was like for us?”

“Do you know what it was like for me to think I might lose you?” Dick countered. “Bruce, you’re my dad. No kid should have to lose their dad–” His heart twanged painfully and he felt hot tears rush up into his eyes. Swallowing hard, he blinked them away. “No kid should have to lose a parent once, much less twice,” he finished in a miserable whisper.

Bruce’s hold on his hand tightened. “I know how much that hurts, Dickie, I do. And you’re right; no child should have to lose their parents when they’re still so young. But, Dick,” Bruce’s eyes were tight with pain, “no father should _ever_ have to bury his son. I can promise you, there is no torture in hell worse than that.”

Dick stared. Those were _strong_ words for Bruce.

“It’s your job to outlive me, kiddo. I know that sucks for you, but it would be unnatural for me to outlive you.”

Dick looked at the bed. That was a concept he did not want to entertain anytime soon. His vision blurred and his lower lip trembled. Seconds later he felt Bruce’s arms go around him again.

“Oh, Dick, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Bruce murmured while Dick clutched at his shirt. “Shhhhh, it’s okay, Dickie, I mean to be around for a very long time yet.”

Dick didn’t respond or lift his head. Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled the familiar smell. He didn’t want a day to come where he would have to say goodbye to Bruce. He knew from experience that those goodbyes never stopped hurting.

One of Bruce’s hands was rubbing circles over his back while the other cradled his head. “Dick, I’m not making you promise not to save me, just that you won’t sacrifice yourself while doing it. The one thing I get to be selfish about as a father and not feel guilty about is making sure that you outlive me. It’s my job to ensure you live a long life. That’s why I need you to promise me that you will never sacrifice yourself again, Dick. Not for anything.”

Dick shook his head into Bruce’s chest. 

“Dick, I need your word on this. Otherwise…” Bruce moved until he was holding Dick’s shoulders and staring down at him. “…I’m going to have to retire Robin.”

Dick gawped at him in horror. He couldn’t…he wouldn’t! “That’s not fair!” he burst out finally.

“Maybe not,” Bruce agreed, looking like it hurt him to do this. “But if that’s what I have to do to keep you safe, I will. Dick, you’re my son, I love you and I won’t lose you to anyone.”

Dick’s eyes widened and his body went limp with shock. Had Bruce just…did he really just say…? Dick had never heard him utter those sentiments to anyone before. He doubted Bruce had said those words since his parents died. “What– what did you say?”

“You heard me,” Bruce replied quietly.

Dick had, but he almost didn’t believe it. He knew Bruce cared about him, and that in his own strange way he did love him, but he had never in his wildest dreams thought that Bruce would actually say the words. That he was doing so now really brought home how serious he was about this.

The boy gulped. If he was serious, then that meant he would have to give his word if he wanted to continue being Robin. He couldn’t just say the words and not mean them. Aside from the fact that Bruce would know at once if he was lying, Dick didn’t want to lie to him. Lies between them would damage the trust between them, and it was that trust which kept them alive in the field. But how could he not do everything in his power to save Bruce if the situation demanded it? His guardian couldn’t ask him to do this, it wasn’t fair!

“Dick?” Bruce was looking at him questioningly, his face serious. 

“I don’t want to promise that,” whispered Dick pleadingly.

“I know you don’t. That’s why you have to.”

“But why?”

“For my own peace of mind. Dick, I need to know that you will always act with the best intentions for your own safety, regardless of whose life is on the line. It’s the only way I can let you be Robin and not lose my mind.”

Dick knew that Bruce was only making him promise because he had been so badly frightened by almost losing him. And while there was something very comforting about knowing he was that important to Bruce, it also scared him to think he might not be able to do everything in his power to save Bruce again if the situation demanded it. He really didn’t want to promise this.

“Dick, if it helps, we’re going to be doing some very, very advanced tactics training after this,” Bruce told him quietly. “And Clark has promised me that even if we’re in the middle of the apocalypse, he will drop everything to help you if you need it. You’re never going to be in the position of being so alone that you have no choice but to sacrifice yourself again.”

“But I wasn’t alone!” Dick protested. “I had Wally.”

“I know, and that’s something else I wanted to speak to you about.”

Dick’s heart plummeted. “You’re not mad that I told him my real name, are you? Bruce, he’ll never tell anyone, I swear!”

“Relax, kiddo. I think Wally has proven that he can be more than trusted. Although I wish you’d told me what you’d done. How long has he known?”

“Almost from the start.”

Bruce blinked, looking mildly impressed. “That long? I guess I’ve never given him enough credit for discretion.”

“Well, he usually sucks at it,” Dick admitted. “But he knows to be careful about the important stuff.”

“And that’s what matters. Regardless, Dick, he knows your identity and he’s proven that he can be trusted.”

Dick stared at him with a hopeful expression. “Meaning?”

“I think he’s earned the right to stay at the manor.”

“YESSSSSS! Bruce, thank you! Wally’s going to be so stoked.” Dick beamed in gleeful anticipation.

Bruce gave him a dry smile. “Just imagine how excited he’ll be when he tastes Alfred’s cooking.”

Dick burst out laughing at the thought, then groaned when it made his ribs ache.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asked anxiously.

Dick waved a hand. “Fine. Shouldn’t have laughed, that’s all.”

Bruce’s miserable, guilt-stricken expression tore at him. “Please don’t do that,” Dick begged, reaching for his guardian’s hand.

The man looked confused. “Do what?”

“Blame yourself. Bruce, it wasn’t your fault! You couldn’t help it.”

“Doesn’t make it any better. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.”

“But you didn’t do anything!” Dick pointed out, a thought occurring to him. “You were under the effects of the virus and couldn’t think rationally, which means technically it wasn’t you, so you can stop feeling guilty.”

The man sighed. “You know it doesn’t work like that, Dick.”

“Why not?”

“Because guilt isn’t something you can just rationalize away.”

“But I don’t want you to feel bad. What can I say to convince you?”

“Promise me that you’ll never sacrifice yourself again, no matter what.”

Dick scowled. He’d walked right into that one. 

“Dick, we can bat this back and forth all night, but I’m not going to change my mind. Either give me your word or give up being Robin.”

“I feel like I’m being punished.”

“You have nothing to be punished for, you did nothing wrong. But, Dick, please try to understand what it felt like to wake up and discover that I’d almost killed you, that I could still lose you. It was the worst moment of my life. I need to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again.”

“I’m not one of your contingency plans!” Dick burst out in frustration.

“No. You’re more important, which is why this is so important. Dick, I promise, we will make a hundred different contingency plans for scenarios like this so that we’ll _both_ be okay if anything like this ever happens again. I just need you to promise me this one thing so I can sleep at night. Dick,” Bruce’s eyes were painfully desperate, “I know it’s selfish, but you’re my whole world and I nearly killed you. _Please._ ”

Dick’s shoulders slumped. He could see how much this nightmare had hurt Bruce; there was a certain desperation and vulnerability around the edges that the man had never exhibited before. And while pain had always been a feature of Bruce’s eyes to those who knew him well, this new pain made it look like Bruce was drowning in anguish. Dick knew with resigned clarity that the only way his guardian could even begin to move past this was if Dick promised to never put himself in such a dangerous position again. Otherwise, the guilt for his actions would continue to eat at him until there was nothing but a shell left. Dick had no choice.

“I promise I’ll never sacrifice myself for anyone again,” he whispered miserably. “Not even for you.” Saying the words made him feel like he might cry.

“Thank you,” said Bruce quietly, leaning forward and hugging him close. “I promise it’ll never come to that again, Dick. I just needed to hear those words.”

Dick was silent. It had better not come to that again; he didn’t want to lose Bruce any more than Bruce wanted to lose him. 

“Don’t be mad at me for making you promise, Dick,” Bruce begged. 

“I’m not. Not really,” Dick mumbled tiredly into his shoulder. “I just wish things could be easy for once.” And he did wish that. Why couldn’t things ever be easy?

“It’s the hardest things in life that make us who we are, kiddo,” Bruce told him quietly. 

Dick’s mouth quirked in a slight smile. “Are you quoting fortune cookies at me?”

Bruce laughed. “Even I’m not that bad! But I’ll tell you what. When you’ve healed, why don’t we go away together camping for a few days? Just the two of us?”

Dick pulled back and looked at him in disbelief and hope. “You mean that?” He and Bruce hadn’t been camping together since his wilderness training before becoming Robin. It had been the best time they’d ever spent together – just him, Bruce, the mountains and open skies. Dick had always longed to do it again, but had given up hope as time had passed with no indication of it happening. He didn’t hold it against his guardian; Bruce was a busy man, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman, and Dick had accepted long ago that they wouldn’t always be able to do normal father and son stuff. To be given the chance now was more than he could hope for.

“I mean it,” Bruce replied. “But, Dick, did you hear me? _After_ you heal. Don’t go pushing your PT just to make it happen faster, okay?”

Dick nodded, a huge smile unfolding across his face. He was going camping with Bruce! Talk about totally making up for the horrors of the rage virus.  
Dick straightened as the memory of the virus crawled back into his brain; they still didn’t know what Andrew Jenkins’ endgame had been! “Bruce, I almost forgot! Jenkins, he was working for someone else! He had a reason to create that virus, but I don’t know–”

Bruce held up a hand. “Relax, kiddo. That’s taken care of. Jenkins was working for Lex Luthor.”

Dick’s mouth fell open. “Lex Luthor?!”

Bruce nodded.

“But…how…when…how did you find out?”

Bruce eyed him in concern. “It’s a long story, Dick and you look tired. Maybe you should get some rest first?”

Dick rolled his eyes in irritation. “Bruuuuuuce! I’ve just spent the last week sleeping!”

His guardian gave a small smile. “Alright then. But lie back against the pillow, that way if you do get tired, you can fall asleep.”

“Could I– could I lie against you?” Dick asked carefully. Bruce was rarely tactile or emotional, but over the last hour, Dick had seen more physical contact from his guardian than he generally saw in an entire year. And it felt nice. He wanted to make it last as long as possible.

Bruce looked surprised at the request. “Of course.” He moved up and sat beside Dick, where he put an arm around him. Dick happily leaned in against his side. He could see Bruce smile down at him in some amusement. “How long are you going to milk this for?” 

“A while,” Dick replied, totally unconcerned about having been caught out. “That okay with you?”

And then Bruce did something else he’d never done before – he leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “I’m fine with it,” he said softly, as Dick blinked in surprise. “Are you comfortable?”

Dick nodded. He was. He felt content and safe lying against Bruce, the safest he’d felt in a long time. It surprised him to admit that to himself. He hadn’t realized it till now, but entering his teenage years and joining the team had put a slight distance between him and Bruce. He supposed that growing up meant becoming more independent, but Dick was glad to know that he could still turn to Bruce when he needed him. He was enjoying growing up, but that didn’t mean he was completely ready to let go of all the strings of childhood.

Bruce gently squeezed his arm, nudging him out of his thoughts. “You want me to start?”

Dick nodded again, before resting his head against Bruce’s chest. As the big man started to narrate how he had tracked the virus back to Luthor, Dick closed his eyes and let the comforting rumble of Bruce’s voice wash over him. Life sure was funny sometimes. To think that almost being killed by his own guardian had brought them closer together was a strange turn of events Dick hadn’t been prepared for. But growing up was teaching him that you can’t always predict people, even the ones you know well. 

He knew that life’s hard lessons wouldn’t always end so well. But so long as he had Bruce and Wally around, he had a feeling that he would always come through those lessons relatively unscathed. Dick smiled to himself. There was something comforting about knowing that no matter how bad things got, he had someone to depend on. And that in itself would be enough to get him through the worst of times.

Feeling happy and at peace in the reassuring presence of his guardian, Dick slowly drifted off to sleep where he dreamed of mountains and blue skies.


End file.
